Looking for some f*cks to give

You know that feeling when you’ve been in a rut, and the stifling depression you’ve been managing to hold at bay is pounding at your door, and you feel like you just need a vacation from your life, even if it’s just a literal vacation to the other side of the world? And you know that feeling when you get rejected for the visa to visit the country you decided to visit to stave off the depression that threatens to ruin your life? No? You don’t know that feeling? Well aren’t you special. It feels like shit. I’m supposed to leave next week and now I’m just throwing open the door to welcome my depression back. Why does something so trivial make me feel like my world is ending? I needed to get away from my job, my stupid life, my hovering depression, and now I just want to crawl into bed and never come out. Except the only other thing I want to do is smoke. Because I’ve been so quote-unquote healthy lately that I quit smoking three months ago. Three months! And all I want to do is buy a carton and smoke all of it tonight. Because who the fuck cares? We’re all gonna die anyway. Might as well enjoy the time that we have, right? 

Ugh. I hate when I get like this. Everything sucks! I hate the world! I’m alone and will never find love! 

The sad thing is that this isn’t even as bad as it’ll get. It’s been building for the last couple of months and I knew it was coming. I’ve been holding it off as long as possible but this literal rejection today was the last straw. I was thisclose to flat out quitting my job today. I stared at my computer for a while, wondering how long I could survive on my savings on a beach in Mexico. Then I thought about how long I could hole up in my apartment and block out the world before my mum called the cops. 

Before I go any further, I feel it necessary to say that I don’t have it in me to kill myself. I know that’s blunt, but it needs to be said. I’ve been in that mindframe before and I don’t know that I’ll ever go back there again. And I’m definitely not there now. I’m just miserable. 

You know what sucks though? I’m not either depressed enough or self-involved enough to just close down. Skip work. Ignore all responsibilities. Instead, I’ll force myself out of bed tomorrow morning, actively try not to yell at everyone who crosses my path or cry the moment anyone speaks to me, actually do my work because god forbid I let my ruined emotional state get in the way of my pointless, non-cancer-curing job, and count down the seconds until I can be home on the couch again, trying to force these fucking thoughts out of my head. 

This sucks so much. I just wanted to go on vacation. If I can’t convince them to overturn the rejected visa, I’m out all the money for the tour.  I guess one of the good things about being a spinster is that I don’t need to save money for my non-existent kids’ tuition. So I can go somewhere else instead. But I had my heart set on India. Something about going back to my roots I suppose. Or maybe just being somewhere so different from my regular world. Maybe I thought I could get lost over there and never have to come back. Because the truth is, I’ve always managed to at least semi manage my life, even during the bad times. But lately I’ve been feeling that last ounce of control slipping through my fingers. I’m running out of fucks to give and I don’t like this feeling. 

 

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