I’ve realised that I haven’t written much over the last few weeks. Although this week I can blame last weekend’s cold, which has developed into a delightful chest and sinus infection, I know that there is another reason. It’s one that I have been so busy avoiding that every time I sit down to write one something else, I’m so busy pushing it out of my mind that there’s no energy left to write about everything else.
Simply, I am very unhappy.
There, I said it. Just by saying it out loud makes me feel a tiny bit better, as then it becomes an acknowledged problem to be addressed rather than a dark shadow I’m trying to pretend isn’t there.
The source of the problem? The job that, in the summer, I was looking forward to starting. The proverbial alarm bells started ringing on my first day when I was told variously that ‘my job was simply to survive’, it was ‘the worst job in the school’ and that I was ‘at the bottom of the hierarchy’ and the kids would treat me accordingly.
Over the last two months, these cheery snippets advice seem, if anything, to have been erring on the positive side. I’ve tried telling myself that there’s a recession and I’m lucky to have a job at all, but, unsurprisingly, this has only made me feel more trapped and miserable.
I’ve felt my enthusiasm for working on learning web design, taking photographs, meeting my friends and my voluntary work fade away too. Things that would normally make me feel proud and excited, like being told I’m doing an excellent job with my voluntary work and the photography exhibition that I’ve snagged for the next two weeks and am putting up today, barely lift my mood for a second.
I need my life back.