None of the following is new informtion really. Just something I typed while killing time at work today and wanted to save somewhere to expound on/think about more later.

Seriously....how is it that I am where I am? Is it fear? Is it laziness? Is it lack of self-confidence? Is it apathy? Is it because I was never someone who had a concrete passion for anything specific and just ended up falling into things as they came, never having any true love or calling? It seems like for years I was fine just doing what I was doing, knowing it was never really going to progress much but not really caring. Liking a middleman kind of job. Hoping I’d meet the perfect guy and get married and have kids at some point, but making no huge effort to make sure any of that actually happened. Of course now, at mid-life, I look back on everything and think, "holy fuck, how did I waste all those years???" And while on paper my life could certainly be worse – I make enough money to support myself, I have a house and a car and a small amount of savings – every other aspect of it is making me completely miserable. Like already-taking-antidepressants-AND-valium-and-still-wanting-to-break-down-and-cry-myself-to-sleep-95%-of-the-time miserable. I’m overweight (with the beginnings of related health problems), I hate my job and pretty much everyone associated with it, my number of friends has dwindled to almost none over the past few years and I have made next to no effort to make new ones, and I have a family who offers no real support with regard to any of it. How is it I can be this miserable – and even TELL them that I am – and they all still literally say "oh, you’re fine, you’re the strong one, just go join a club or take a class and you’ll be fine" and then proceed to tell me about some trivial thing their cat or child did that day. It literally astounds me. Even my doctors minimize it when I try and talk about it. I can’t figure out if maybe I’m talking about it too much and no one wants to hear about it any more, or if I’m not talking about it enough for anyone to take seriously. Because when it’s all you yourself think about all day everyday, you feel like it’s got to be blatantly obvious to everyone else around you, but my own best friend – who herself is an actual shrink! – acted shocked a few weeks back when I tried to describe things to her. And while I know that one thing I do need is a real shrink of my own, the last one I had did nothing but listen to my stories and take my money, and with my money being currently funneled directly from my bank account to my physical therapist for my back problems, the idea of spending more of my savings on psychotherapy seems impossible right now. Also, I’d have to find one who could see me on late evenings or weekends only, because my bosses have recently announced that they feel like I’m missing too much work lately with my medical appointments, even though not one iota of work has gone undone because of them and they admit this.
So where am I going with all of this? The usual place. The one I’ve been going to in journals for years and years. Putting it all on paper so as to possibly find some sort of "ah-ha" moment to motivate me out of all this crap. It hasn’t really worked yet in 44 years, but for some reason I keep trying. (What’s that definition of insanity again??)
Of course I’m also putting it all out there yet again as a way to kill time at work after having some everything I could possibly do and now sit here in utter boredom. And typing this crap out feels like at least a slightly better use of my time than solitaire or web-surfing. Maybe it will at least kill time until I can go to lunch, which will give me at least a slight distraction from some of the crap. Though certainly not all of it, as my only lunchmate is a coworker who can talk of nothing but the details of how much this job sucks.....something I agree with but that certainly doesn’t help my state of mind.
But who knows. Maybe today at lunch I’ll meet a wonderful single man who also owns his own incredibly successful business that he needs help running and thinks I’d be perfect for. A girl can dream, right? Or is that just sad delusion?