Whenever I go to bed, it's always the same. I feel ashamed of myself for having wasted the day. I know that, given the circumstances, for whatever reason, I do need to go to bed, but always long for having done something other than that in the day.
Come the next morning, I'm usually busy preparing for work, but when I have the time to think, I always think of the ways I will manage to do better during the day.
And then, at work, I get lost in thought--I develop new, brilliant ideas, or revisit old ideas and give them nuances, or even just plan out the rest of my day. I'll plan activities, activities which would be me not wasting the rest of my day. I do this, over and over and over again, planning them and how to turn things around.
And then, when I get home.
I am burned out enough that I just.
Don't do any of it.
Or what little I do is as little as is humanly possible to do it while still being considered doing it.
And then the time disappears.
And soon, it's bed time again.
And the cycle repeats.
And over again.
The same loop.
The same sequence.
I have a passing awareness of dates, because I just am generally fairly good at on some level tracking that stuff.
Yet at the same time. Days blend together. Weeks blend together. Even months are starting to blend together. Where one is the same as another. It's already the last week of June and yet I have just as much feeling as I did when it was the last week of May, and the same amount of feeling as first week of June, and midway through June, and so on and so forth.
It's just all the same, where I'm not doing anything.
And you wonder why I see myself as a failure.