Sunday, August 16, 2015

Sunday, 9:19 pm.

I am not ready for another week to start.

Tonight I am filled with anxiety pangs that start in my stomach and fester in my mind.

I feel I'll get fired. That I have no real value as a working person. That my art and creativity are forced - a joke. That I'll end up unemployed again. Worthless.

I am not even designing these days. I'n a glorified assistant.

I don't have enough hours in the day. I am not cooking. I am not doing laundry. 

I want to work less. But how would I get by? I already live pay-check to pay-check.

I think about the notion of me living on my own and my chest palpitates. How can I take care of myself? 

Is it possible for me to live in an assisted living facility? Should I limit my budget in order to limit the financial pressure on myself? 

If I end up in a shit apartment I'll just get depressed at my environment. I need sunlight. 

Yes, my mind has these thoughts that flutter in and out, but overall tonight I feel tired. I don't want to try. I want to just do the least amount I can. Commit as little as I can. 

It's too much.

I want to check myself into a mental hospital. I want a fucking break. 

I want a fucking break.

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