April 30th, 2010

giving up

Rock bottom

After disbelief and despair, depression. I feel utterly worthless, with a knot in my stomach that will not go away. I haven't been able to sleep through the night since The Biatch dropped the bombshell on me on Monday, and I've stopped eating, surviving on a small bowl of yoghurt a day that I have to force down and force to stay down. The job centre requires that in order to qualify for benefit, I apply for work from the first moment of hearing my contract would not be extended; so this morning I sent off my first application though I don't expect anything to come out of it; I've never been so uninspired in my life.

So here I am, sat sad, shivering and quivering in my flat, while outside people are celebrating Queen's Day, enjoying themselves with fun and games. And I keep going over the same questions in my mind, without finding an answer to any of them. Why oh why did I not heed my previous manager's warnings to watch out for The Biatch? What reason had I to assume that even though they hated each other, The Biatch would be able to judge me on my own merits and not be influenced by my association with her enemy? Why is it that I'm such a poor judge of character? And why do I always, always, ruin things for myself?

What good are the CEO's and COO's kind words to me? They won't put food on the table, or vouchsafe me a pension in my old age.

I could have had a job come Monday. A job I enjoyed, that suited me down to the ground. And I would have had too, if only I'd let sleeping dogs lie for a week. I am the worst kind of failure in the history of the world.