Today marks the last day of the 7th week of myself working at ICF, quite literally my first full-time job. Tomorrow will be my 8th week. Every second is dragging on. There are 26 weeks between April 17th and October 17th, which is the date of which my contract supposedly ends. Which means, 19 more weeks to go.. So like, exactly what I’ve done but 2.5 more times. I can handle it. I can.
I went to Greenbelt for the weekend because I was feeling so lonely and isolated. This is the first time in a while that I really wanted some company. I am feeling so alone. I have been very sad, depressed, and anxious. But mostly anxious. I haven’t been able to sleep well these past few days. Thinking about work. It is quite overwhelming. I honestly think that my bosses/co-workers do not think that I am doing my work badly. In fact, I have been trying my absolute best to do everything I can 120%. There is really no reason why I should be anxious about performance.. I think. I guess I am just always so anxious about unfinished work.. just like how I was in college. But I sort of have to understand that it takes a while for work to be finished… especially if you are working with somebody else to finish it.
I came back to rockville at around 7:30pm, after the 30 minute bus ride to the metro, 1.5 hour in the metro, and 30 minutes of walking from the metro. I spent my weekend at Suraksha’s & Sasya’s and they were so great.
Because I miss them already.
I miss my family.
I miss home.
I want to go home.
I don’t know what to do.
I hate my work.. I am angry. I am angry that I do not have freedom. I am living someone else’s dream. I am working to pay off someone else’s expenses, that of which someone ELSE is supposed to take care of. I am angry that I can’t do what I want because I am not free. I am angry because I feel that every single day, I am in shackles and I can’t break free. I am imprisoned. Imprisoned in what I want to do, and imprisoned in my own mind.
I am miserable. I am afraid that one day I will, dare I say it, kill myself.
Suffering will always happen. But there are suffering that is worth it, and suffering that isn’t. This one is definitely isn’t.
I hate myself.