There’s a reason why I haven’t been writing. Well, two. One reason is the fact that nothing exciting has actually been happening in my life. If I were to do a pie chart of my typical week, 33.3% of it would be spent sleeping. Approximately 41.6% would be spent working and commuting to and from work, approximately 2.9% of it would be spent seeing Alex, as I only see him once a week. Therefore, 22.2 percent is devoted to everything else in my life – eating, hygiene, and getting on the computer to check my e-mail or search for another job.

It sucks. But what sucks even worse is the second reason why I have not been posting here. I haven’t been feeling like myself since I went on the night shift. About a month ago, Allie Brosh of Hyperbole and a Half wrote a post that summed up a great deal of my own feelings, and that is of depression. It is a little comforting that I am not alone in the world in suffering from depression, and yet, it is not comforting. It’s terrible.

Now, my own depression is not necessarily like Allie’s, for people deal with their emotions and their illnesses differently. For example, let’s say… a roommate. My roommate gets sick. Just a little cold. She over exaggerates her symptoms and buys things and medications she will never use, and she claims she’s dying but it’s a minor cold that she gets over in a day or two. Me? I get sick and I ignore it. The symptoms come up and I think I’m tough. I am the Clint Eastwood of illnesses, or so I’d like to believe. What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger. I don’t take medication because for the most part, it doesn’t work. I once suffered through a sinus infection for three months. The only time where a regular sickness turned me into one of those typical kids who go off to college and calls their mom to come up and help them. That was because I got the flu, and I was so weak my legs barely got me to the bathroom – and even then, they crumpled under me like a lawn chair outside the bathroom door and I had to wait a minute or two until I could use the wall to get me on my feet again.

Even though that was a long-winded tirade, it’s pretty much the same way I’ve dealt with my anxiety issues, and they’ve built up into a detrimental change in my behavior. I have had anxiety issues for a long, long, time, and it didn’t help that in college, I underwent a great amount of stress with my workload, dealt with bullying from a peer, and then was ultimately failed by the university I had entrusted with providing me with a quality education. I was also lied to by society. I’m not a perfect little snowflake. The things I love and are good at are not useful in actually earning money, and even though money can’t buy you happiness, it can give you a sense of security, especially when you have bills to pay, a car to keep running, student loans to pay off, or you take care of another person (the last one I actually don’t do, I’m just giving an example). Security is the second tier of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. However, while I do earn money in my employment, I do not get one very crucial part of that hierarchy that I once had: a sense of love and belonging.

I live with my mother. Besides her, the only other people I interact with are my co-workers who are all older than me, guests as they check in/out or inquire about something they need, and I get calls and texts from Alex – and, again, if I’m lucky, I see him on Sundays when I’m off for a few hours. But other than that, I don’t have people I interact with. I spend two hours commuting when I work – alone, in a car. I sleep while everyone is at work or in class, and I’m working when they’re sleeping or having fun on the weekends. Basically, I went from being at the top of Maslow’s Hierarchy to being near the bottom.

So there. On top of my long-ignored anxiety issues, I have lost so much of myself and what I had before. Even if my friends want to invite me to something, I probably wouldn’t be able to make it because of my job, and I know that everyone else has work and school during the day on Mondays through Fridays, so my chances of getting out of the house and doing anything fun are slim. I don’t even know what fun is anymore. When Alex and I get together, I never know what to do. I am lame,  I am boring, and I am sad and mopey all the time.

Which just makes it worse. The aura of perpetual self-loathing hangs around me, making me a miserable person to be around. I feel like a monster has taken control of my body and I can’t get rid of it. I just want to be who I once was, whoever she is.