This week is starting to really get to me. I only have to work for two more nights before I get a weekend.

I’m not sure I can take another week.

Working nights sucks.

From the several hundred random blogs I peruse, I stumbled upon this post about depression, and I remembered how depression actually sounds a lot like what I would imagine hell to be like.

Imagine that every single success, every single triumph, every single moment of joy in your life, no matter how wonderful, becomes grey ash. You don’t feel a goddamn thing.

Despite all the great things happening to you, you feel no pleasure. No happiness.

How excruciating does every single second become, when all you can feel is this dull, gnawing unhappiness, this draining sorrow? The sun is out, but everything looks grey.

The worst part is that no one gets it. Everyone else around you thinks you’re nuts. (And I suppose, technically, you are crazy, but that is scarcely a comforting thought.)

The road has always been long and hard.

I always fear that something unexpected will drag me back down into that treacherous pit of despair, but there’s no use in dreading the inevitable.

I have to always, always remind myself to take life one moment at a time. Lately work has been making me confront the fact that no one knows how much time is allotted to us, and while planning for disaster seems prudent, always expecting disaster just fucks up your mind.

Even the most terrible things become familiar, and you can even believe that you miss it once it’s all over. Talk about co-dependency.

It usually takes me a week before I come back to reality, but still.

I ramble.

The clock says 2:20 in the afternoon, but it feels like 2:20 in the morning. Bleh.