injection

I'm really depressed. Depressing. Sad. Saddening. Over the past few days, I've managed to regress from the uber-confident pseudosocialite that I'd become into the scared little girl of my past. I don't know what it is. No. I do. This time of year is always hard on me.

If anything... I feel very September. The month of the slowly dying sun, where the incessant cries of summertime morph into the dronings-on of the 40 (or in my case 100) hour work week. Flowers brown and die, along with the feelings of a future I've tried to force on myself for the past months. 

(Please pardon my emo-ness... I really can't help it.)

I miss school. Not college, but the clusterfuck of high school where I knew walking in every day... I'd be nothing more than a no-name. No expectations for someone with no backstory. I hated high school... hated it to the point where every day was a bloody struggle, but yet I want to go back. I miss no one knowing. Now everyone knows. I miss being invisible. 

I don't want to have to walk into the office every day and put on my happy face. I've been doing it since July and I don't know how much longer I can. I'd rather be invisible than fake. Because that's all I am at GCI. To my coworkers I'm the slutty, outgoing ditz who just happens to be good at this. Nothing more, nothing less. I've mentioned numerous times that I write, that I actually give a shit about policy, that I legitimately think I can save the world one day. But does any of that matter... nope. I'm just the girl who walks in every day, looking put-together with a huge smile on her face. I'd love to be able to walk into work, just once, in comfy clothes. I'm not talking scrubby sweats or anything. Just a tee-shirt and nice jeans and tennies. And having to put on such a farce, day after day, I think has finally gotten to me. 

For the past few days, I just haven't been able to bring myself to go into work. I've laid in bed, watching Mark Harmon's ungodley sexiness on NCIS and cried. Cried for what I've given up to work with GCI... the start of my junior year of college, South Africa, Omri, Linda's race. Cried for giving up Linda's race... how could I have been so stupid?... Nick, Jorge, Heather... my REAL campaign family. Cried for how much I could have... love, a book deal, the Goddesses.

But they're all gone.

Instead, I'm stuck in a job I've committed myself to till at least after the Election (lest a two week break for a return to Linda-land for GOTV). I've given up writing. I've lost my chance with the campaign family (I will forever be known as the one who left). And I will never be loved.

I think, more than anything... I just want someone to hold me and tell me it will be ok. Preferably Michael. GOD. Michael's mad at me. I don't know what I did, but I can feel it. I miss knowing he was always there for me. I need that assurance, that gratification. And now... I'm drifting.

I feel so isolated from GCI. Right now, the social butterfly said she'd attend a party in Brooklyn tonight. But instead, I'm at home in my safe, little apartment. I'm too scared to go. 

I can't let them get close to me. It already happened once... and I have to start weining myself off them. So when it happens, it's an easy break.

I miss Nick. I saw him the other day at the mall and he was disgusted by me. Absolutely repulsed. I need him to tell me it's going to be ok. And I couldn't even get a sense of awknowledgement. 

I want it to all be over. September is always hard... I'm not good in these in-between months.