there's not much in this world that is more devastating than a dream that is killed just before it is about to be realised. this has just happened to me. it is something that i suppose most people would consider trivial in the general scheme of things. it was afterall, just a job. but to me it was more than that. it was a chance to finally be the me that i've always wanted to be, to prove that i am capable of things, that i can achieve something more than getting out of bed in the morning. it was a chance to make something of myself. to be more than mundane. i have spent the last couple of hours crying tears of mourning for the me that i will never be. none of this is helped by my depression of course. dreaming seems like a fool's game, something i'm not likely to want to partake in again for quite some time. it is no one's fault but it hurts like hell.
I am so over it right now. Everything feels hard. Everything feels shit. Everything makes me want to cry. I don't want to be a person any more. I don't want to be an anything any more. My children are smart. They get good grades, score well on NAPLAN, their teachers love them. Why then must they continue to do stupid things? I am so sick of a child running to tell me that so-and-so did such-and-such to me, I am sick of them hurting each other, I am sick of them destroying things, I am sick of them whinging, complaining, walking past rubbish on the floor, leaving shit everywhere, pretending they can't see the dog wee on the floor, having rooms that looking like the aftermath of a break and enter. I am sick of washing dishes, of sweeping floors, of the endless amounts of washing and folding and cleaning and tidying and cooking and planning and thinking. I am sick of feeling guilty for not being able to do those things that I should be doing, of feeling guilty that my husband...
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