Feeling down
Robert1000
Registrant
Dear brothers,
It's been a tough few days for me. I'm having trouble at work, and I'm haunted by feelings of worthlessness. I recently read the story by Junot Diaz in the New Yorker, which has at its basis an experience of child sexual assault that he suffered. It's weird, but I feel like his whole piece is emotionally dishonest. To be honest, I've been reading him for years, and I always thought he had been victimized like that, like me, and I have always recognized in him the same propensity to bullshit that I have. It's a kind of masquerading bullshit that pretends to be truth, that even bares itself seemingly to the bone, but in fact it's an act, a facade to cover up the real truth somewhere beneath it. I hate it about Diaz, I think, because I hate it about myself.
I'm just upset. Angry. Hurt.
I mean, I feel confident that I can recover at work. Basically, I'm being disciplined for a few things that I messed up but which are only a problem because my supervisor is making it a problem, if that makes sense. There are a few late things, but nothing big, nothing that's different than what anyone else has.
Whatever. I don't know. Maybe it's not so bad. But I do find myself wrestling with disassociation, with a dark cloud of misery, with feelings of helplessness and just this notion that I don't fit in this world.
Send thoughts my way, please. I'm struggling. I'm feeling down.
Bob
It's been a tough few days for me. I'm having trouble at work, and I'm haunted by feelings of worthlessness. I recently read the story by Junot Diaz in the New Yorker, which has at its basis an experience of child sexual assault that he suffered. It's weird, but I feel like his whole piece is emotionally dishonest. To be honest, I've been reading him for years, and I always thought he had been victimized like that, like me, and I have always recognized in him the same propensity to bullshit that I have. It's a kind of masquerading bullshit that pretends to be truth, that even bares itself seemingly to the bone, but in fact it's an act, a facade to cover up the real truth somewhere beneath it. I hate it about Diaz, I think, because I hate it about myself.
I'm just upset. Angry. Hurt.
I mean, I feel confident that I can recover at work. Basically, I'm being disciplined for a few things that I messed up but which are only a problem because my supervisor is making it a problem, if that makes sense. There are a few late things, but nothing big, nothing that's different than what anyone else has.
Whatever. I don't know. Maybe it's not so bad. But I do find myself wrestling with disassociation, with a dark cloud of misery, with feelings of helplessness and just this notion that I don't fit in this world.
Send thoughts my way, please. I'm struggling. I'm feeling down.
Bob


