Perfection

I wanted a job. I wanted an apartment. I wanted to feel free. As I lay here, the minutes ticking by, and the sun shining in my bedroom window, I know it’s time to get up. I am not free.

Things always look better until you get what you want. I have a job that makes me feel like I’m suffocating. I want to write. To paint. I want to walk out of my apartment and instead of going to work, go for a long walk and do photography and clear my head.

As of right now, I work a job that has me work 7 days in a row every other week. It’s a heavy people person job, which I can be but it’s not a defining quality. Every time I have to get up, I can feel myself withering away. My grandma just passed and I keep screwing up at work. Just from sheer exhaustion and I guess I just don’t want to be there.

I have a trip planned for Colorado, next week. I think when I get back I’ll start to dig myself out of this hole. I have felt so pointless and hopeless for so long. I just need to be happy. I need to think for a bit. When I come back I am going to take a weekend to just pull my life out of the darkness and misery it’s been for the last year.

I don’t know how to get out of bed today. I know I will because there is no choice. But, I’m just so unhappy. I’ve been trying for so long to be perfect. Tan, slim, happy, rested. Perfection is constantly on my mind. I let no one down. I feel guilty for everything I do. But, at some point it’s enough. I’m unhappy. What about me?

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