For the first time in a long time, a really long time, I find myself needing to write.

I lost my fire and my fight. But here I am, resurfacing, needing to write.

So much has happened and yet so much hasn’t. I’m still in limbo and we can leave it at that.

I find myself filled with anger again. Anger at the people around me, anger at work, anger at random strangers and friends alike. I’ve lost my passion. What once fueled me has me instead feeling spread thin. My passions have become chores and my work consumes me (and not in the good way).

I have an employer who would rather hire people who can answer magical question with magical answers instead of hiring the people who can not only do the job, but do it well. A hellish process, a competition that pits coworkers against each other for a handful of full time jobs and instead pass it off to someone who has never done the job. Who wants to go to work in an environment like that? I don’t. But there is nothing else around here. So I get up and go to work even though I leave sick each night.

Stress has turned my body against me. Random aches and pains have started. Upset stomach. I leave work every night glad to be done, upset stomach. The aches and pains stop as soon as I get home.

I count down the days to the end of my contract but then worry about what happens when its done. I’m so worried about money. I’m the breadwinner and the change in pay when my contract ends will be a struggle.

I’m just tired. I’m stick of being tired. I’m sick of being sick and tired. And worried. I don’t want to be worried anymore. I want a stable job, with a decent income that we can live off of. I want my husband to get his long term disability.

I just needed to write out what I don’t have the courage to say. Even if no one reads this, I just needed the words on the screen. To let them go so they don’t rip me apart.