September is the cruellest month
2004-09-05 || 10:18 a.m.

I have been back at work since Wednesday. Everything about me seems dulled. My brain feels hard, heavy and immobile and I have an intense desire to take a mallet and smash it until I no longer exist. Other than that my feelings remain the same. I'd like to stab myself repeatedly. I'd like to run and never stop.

I wish for a day when I could be at home always. Simple things. To have a dog. To have the time to clean, to cook meals, to read a newspaper, play a CD. Things that will eternally escape me. Things that would make me feel human.

It's not that I mind working. There's things about my job that I like, love even. I love the kids. My new class seem sweet, if a little bland. I like to see that they are relaxed, I like to smile at them rather than shout, I like to be patient and kind with them, I like to see them smile. But it means I have little of these things left for anywhere or anyone else. At home I can be a stroppy, pissy bitch because I'm just so damn tired.

And I really do have a massive amount of faults. These are not always clear in the words I choose to write.

And then there's that awful sinking feeling, that feeling of tight lead in your chest when you know you are despised and mocked. And none of it is paranoia. It is real.

The mocking, the cutting dead, the smug hatred makes it so I cannot go in the staff room and thus compounds my social ineptitudes. It is losing me my friends. Helen is becoming cold with me because I won't eat my lunch with her in the staff room. It makes it so that I am wondering whether just to let go of them anyway and have done with it.

Just like before.

Online I can be as garrulous and charming as hell but in reality I'm quiet. And I never tell anyone what I'm really thinking.

My problems pile up. My coping mechanisms are fucked.

I cannot open my post. I've said that before. It's utterly ridiculous I know but its about more than the physical act of opening an envelope. Its a shitty dumbarse hiding from the world type thing. I don't want to exist, so why do I get post?

My reading a book problem is evolving. I opened the post that contained the weekly chapter. I started to read them. I took them to school and read one each week when the kids were doing their quiet reading. One of them asked me why I had a ripped out chapter of a book and I replied that my friend was sending me a favourite book, in small chunks, to help me get back to reading. Because its always best to tell kids the truth. But I didn't manage to get to the end of it because I can only get so far through a book now. Yes I can start it, but I cannot finish.

What else is there? Ah yes, the pigeon hole. An extension of the post problem. I can't empty my pigeon hole at work. Partly it's because its located in the staff room but mainly its beause I just can't.

I can't play CD's anymore. They've become like the old book problem.

And there's more and worse, but this is long enough for now.