I hate work. I find it extremely hard to do the things I love, let alone the things I hate. I can't work in something I love because I hate work by definition. I also hate most things work is about. when I want to do things I love I end up doing things I hate instead. but not work. certainly not work. if work were about those things I unintentionally do, I would find a way to sublimate my inability to do the things I love elsewhere, which would preclude the work.
but there is something far worse than either of those things.
not knowing what to do. not boredom, mind you. I wish I could be bored honestly. I think it's been a very long time since I last experienced proper boredom. to have one's mind be so free as to be inconvenienced by virtue of being unnoccupied... ahhhh.
but not boredom. not indecision. not no bullshit.
to have the whole world move past as you're hopelessly trapped between 6 goddamn walls. you don't want to do anything. you don't want to live. you don't want to die. you want to kick the furniture to the ground, to scream, to punch the window until every shard of glass lobbed into your arm creates just enough pain to distract you from your utter and complete inability to experience reality. but you don't want to do any of those things, because your inhibitory function knows they are socially unacceptable. to be engulfed in a deafeningly loud silence, to see the abyss dance in front of you in mockery of your pain. or maybe that's just your eyelids. either way it gazes the fuck back.
it's been a few days now since it briefly got that bad, but it's always present in some capacity. you can feel it looming over you, the unceasing buzz of the abyss. it hovers. it's always there a bit, waiting. waiting.