Post-pandemic malaise

I burn with discontent. Frustration is making me turn sour. The grey of the office is slowly seeping into everything. Now, my relationship is grey, my friendships are grey, my food is grey, my apartment is grey. I'm so tired and frayed by the relentlessness of work, bills, pressure to perform, productivity, unrelenting standards - some days I wish I could just curl up, fall asleep and never wake up.

Sometimes, my dreams are in full colour. Rich, verdant landscapes, filled with golden sunshine and people smiling with contentment. So different from the pallid faces and thin half-grimaces of people I see on the bus, or around the office.

I drown my sorrow in an endless stream of limited television series and junk food. I pretend I'm part of their world, caught up in the fictional dramas and pretend realities that feel so much more real than my own.

How I longed to be an adult, when I was a child. Longed to escape the monotony of the school classroom, the emotional horror of my parents abusive marriage. Now I'm stuck in my own loveless relationship, frozen by insecurity and the fear that I am unlovable, that this job, this relationship, this life - is all that I deserve.

I feel I have been buried alive, that each breath is more laboured than the last. I wish I could write of dragons and magic and love, but that requires hope and creativity and my well has run dry. It's cracked surface is dusty with want and neglect. And there is no rain on the horizon.

My heart is broken, yet I can't feel it hurt - because all that's left of me is pain.