I offered to come in tomorrow, which is my day off. They were going to let me, until they realized that showing up just for those three hours would put me into overtime. I think in a way I am making an attempt to work myself to death. To that point of no return. I don’t feel like I’m going anywhere, like anything is happening. Trying is for nothing when you don’t care where the path leads or how it ends.
I feel as though I wander endlessly.
In this suffocating fog I can’t escape. It’s like I’m grasping at shadows, things I can’t ever really hold onto. But they give this image, this outline, and sometimes I stupidly believe I can have more than just that shadow. But the harder I try to latch on, the deeper I am dragged into the darkness, the umbra, until I am so consumed by the black that whatever I was reaching for no longer makes any difference.