Work is killing me

October was...hellish for me.

I had four outings (abroad work seminars, expo, company meetings, etc) in a span of one month, each requires at least 2 days up until 1 week of travel. I think the stuff I'm about to rambling are an accumulation of pent up stress, tension, tiredness, nervousness, and all those good stuff (which I fail to let out). 

Last week was definitely the lowest I've ever felt since so long. The hormones was working the way God intended them to, and I can't help but feel like Earth's number one most worthless piece of shit. 

All it had to take was blood clot dripping through my thighs, split. splat. Each bloodstain on my bathroom floor signs how unpredictable my mood will take me for the next seven days. 

First I felt unloved and unworthy of love and genuinely believed that the whole world had turned its back on me. I had no one caring enough to console me. And I think that everyone else had a better life than me! They all had families that cares, lovers that embrace, and so on and so forth. These overthinking and hormonal influx even made me consider killing myself. Well, not really.

I always had this urge to run away. Run away, far far away. It's childish, and irresponsible at most. I know. 

So my desire to kill myself isn't rooted from "inflicting pain so I can feel alive" but more of "I want things to be different and maybe disappear" kind. 

But then another question pop off: Why? 

Why did you go to such extreme? Just because you had no one to talk to for 2 days? EXCUSE ME, JUST BECAUSE??

Having no one to share my thoughts are depressing enough already. But I had to keep up the brave and independent girl act, or else I'll be a burden to everyone around me. I hate it, and maybe it's all in my head. But...

Lately I've also been thinking, why did I apply for this job anyways? It's tiring, I barely understand anything that needs to be done, I always have the shortest end of stick, my coworker's shitty attitude of talking behind one's back, my client's (or the lack thereof) attitudes... I mean is working really that important for me? 

Not to be a pretentious pompous asshole, but Big Daddy's got enough money to take care of me for at least the next five years. I'll just sold myself (Read: devote myself) to some man (Read: a husband) before it's too late. Life's easy for a young woman, baby! 

But of course I can't do that. I had to keep up an act, act of complying to what society wants me to be. This is a productive age, so of course I'm working. You like money, don't you? All the access you got for having a secure amount of money.. It's delightful, no? 

I don't have any clear career path, or goals I wish to reach professionally speaking. All I know is i want to learn oil painting, write silly proses, do weightlifting exercises.. Who would dream of labor anyways??? 

I'm tired..I'm tired...I'm tired..