February 2019: What the hell?

I’m really not that okay

I guess I promised myself to do this weekly…

I’ll add the usual preface. My month was not your month. I am writing this entirely as a point of therapy for myself because well… writing does help. Screaming into the void does help. Just putting my thoughts and feelings into something readable allows me to process it better than the cascade of half-formed thoughts.

SO! I am not okay.

During the month of February. I feel like I have gotten nothing done. I feel like a failure. A loser. A pathetic leech. The list goes on.

For those new to this shit-show. I left my job in December because it was absolutely destroying my mental health. I sat at a desk for eight hours a day hating myself, the world and everything in between. I was not okay. Suicidal thoughts abound.

And thankfully, I have parents who support me and allow me to live rent free. Life is cushy. I quit my job and got a position writing for my University’s Paper.

Then why am I still so lost? Millennial ennui? My autism? Mental health issues still hanging on with hooks? The guilt I feel being able to live like this when others struggle just to get by is wrecking me to my core. I can’t shake the fact that I am a non-functioning guy living in his parent’s basement.

During January, I had a book I wanted to finish. During that month I had the ‘Working Artist’ mentality. I had daily tasks, I wrote every day and I even made some money on commissions. February, with that big project done, I have been frozen, unable to produce, and lost.

My brain just feels scrambled.

I keep re-trying to get into a routine, maintain my work ethic and exercise. And none of it is working. I’ll work for two hours and my eyes will glaze over, my head will pound, my head will droop and my brain will scream how much of a failure and a mistake I am. I’ll pass out while reading. I’ll snooze my alarm. I’ll stay up.

Working the job that almost killed me, I would come home miserable and I would be ravenous to write. To escape. Do I need to be miserable for 8 hours a day to follow my ambition? If so, how is that healthy in the long term?

And to remind myself, I am still writing for a newspaper, producing roughly 2 pieces a week. I really enjoy this job. It is the light spot in this shit-show.

I don’t know what I need to do.

We will see how March goes. I have a few minor plans to try and get me out of this.

  1. I will try to not stay and write in my bedroom. I will move around
  2. I will continue to try and build a routine.
  3. I will try to be less hard on myself. The self-loathing is not solving anything.
  4. Positive reinforcements. I am a writer. I do good work.

Let’s see how this goes… thank you.

Comment and share your thoughts and advice

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