Another day passes and I find myself even more withdrawn than ever. I have a long task list to get through and I haven’t made a single microcosm of progress. It feels like something is broken, I can no longer find a reason to work or wake up in the morning. I think the word is Dysania? (the state of finding it hard to get out of bed in the morning). Its not like I’m asleep at the time. I can barely sleep…
I’m the last one in, which means I have to prepare myself to face my managers scowl of disapproval. The quality of my work has slipped quite substantially and now I’m sitting across my boss, trying to figure out which words will convince him that I’ll change. I wont change. I don’t want to change, I want to quit but I’m too much of a coward to do it.
A lack of sleep has left me cognitively impaired so forgive me if I need you to repeat what you’ve said and forgive me if I don’t look like I care. I find myself making stupid mistakes, it gets hard to read or find words to communicate(Dysphasia). I don’t want to be stuck here but life feels like quicksand, I’m just going to die. I start to wonder if I’m developing schizophrenia. I’ve just finished reading Syliva Plath’s ‘The Bell Jar’, a roman-a-clef where the main character (her) sinks into a schizoid like psychosis. I know I’m depressed, I’ve never been completely happy. I hardly ever smile and what’ s worse is the anxiety. Thick nerves and a brain that ticks constantly into recriminations and a replay of regrets keeps me awake at night- keeps my hands shaking and unsteady. On a sunny South African day in November, at rock bottom of my despair, I decide to do something about it. After a little research – I book an appointment with a psychologist…..