Almost time to return to work. Five weeks goes fast when you’re not having fun and whilst the panic attacks have momentarily subsided, the anxiety is as bad as ever.
I don’t want to go back, job changes or not. I don’t want to feel worthless again and helpless and feel I’m letting the side down because I can’t cope but next Monday that frightful cycle begins again.
I’m tired of it all. Tired of not getting my point across and having to work so damn hard just to get simple things done. It’s so exhausting and wears me down before I even start so I always feel as though I’m playing catch up all the time and when you have mental illness on top of the agony of fibromyalgia then every day seems like a battle from the outset and leaves you mentally and physically exhausted.
I’m not a sheep but from Monday I will have to be. My colleagues have amply demonstrated their lack of support or lack of enthusiasm to go along with my ramblings as that’s how they see them, the ramblings of an unhappy soul who some view with utter contempt whilst others are happier to simply dismiss as troubled or odd. It’s a lonely struggle that’s for sure.
And they can’t see that I’m always on their side, fighting for them, looking out for them but it’s no use, they don’t care about me or what I’m trying to achieve.
And that’s just it. I’m achieving nothing, nothing at all but giving myself more heartache by my continued struggle on other people’s behalf.
So I’m back next Monday. Back and dreading it already, dry mouth, sinking feeling in stomach. Tired already, worn thin and worn out. I’m back and I may not survive.