This - blogging - is so bizarre. I get wrapped up in the writing and let everything flow freely. Instead of sugar coating everything, which I am ever so good at doing, I forget that someone I know will read this. People that I know and love that I've invited into this strange distance of intimacy will read this. Secrets that I've keep hidden so well for so long I confess here. Things that I would never ever say out loud because I wouldn't know where or how to begin I can say here.
Like my adventure into depression and how every day is still a struggle to keep my head above the water. Unless you've been there you don't know what it feels like. There are not words dark enough to describe the abyss that can encompass you. There are no words to describe the loneliness, the misery, the heartache, the anger, and the raw, ugly feelings that grip your being and hold on tight.
I've always written. It is safe to write. I have boxes and boxes of journals that I've filled - momentos of my misery and of my happiness. I can deal with my dramas in a notebook, resolve them to my satisfaction, and close the book, pretending everything is okay. I am so good at that.
In almost everyway, I cannot wait to quit my job. Knowing that I have less than a month to go is such a huge weight off my shoulders. Not having to deal with Scuzy, Volty, Neville, and the Vile ladies will be most excellent. Leaving ZennieZou will be difficult. Who will get me to do stupid things for a breakbuck when breakbucks are no longer a valued currency? Who will I bring silly things back from vacation for, my treat? This is why I stay at jobs I hate too long. I meet awesome people who I enjoy spending time with and don't want to leave them in a bad situation alone.
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