Sometimes, there is nothing that can make me feel better.

The hours I'm in this state add up like overdue bills, accruing interest, compounding the principal, making the actual amount that much harder to clear. And while everyone has monetary debt these days, I can't find anyone with as much emotional strain and stimulation fatigue as I do, other than my boss. I know no one who does what I do, as hard as I do it. I can't dump it on anyone I'd normally go to with a problem, because I know they'll just tell me what I ought to do. I know what I ought to do, and I'm trying to do it the right way. I just don't know how much longer I can stand up with this weight on me, day-in and day-out. I don't know if I can do it right, and while it's not the first time I've questioned my abilities, it might be the first time I've ever had a real reason to.

Mom: How are you doing with work?
Me: Mom, why did I ever start writing? Why does this have to be so god damned important to me?
Mom: You have a gift for this.
Me: It was a choice, and I'm starting to regret it.

T: I'm kind of in the same boat as you.
Me: Are you?
T: Yeah, you know, thinking about my life, and what I want to do with it.
Me: ...I don't have time to think about my life.