![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wook77For those on my flist that are just here for the fic, I apologize for the below as you're about to get TMI about my life. Also, I'm sorry for spamming your flist with this shit. I just need to get it out.
I haven't admitted this to many people but... when I was in college (or about 8 years ago, actually), I was diagnosed as being bipolar. I am not on medication and have not been on medication for 6 years. The reason for the lack of medication is that, after two years of being on it constantly and dealing with weight-gain, eating disorders, skin conditions and drug interactions, I decided to participate in an experiment to control bipolar-ity (if that's a word) with exercise and diet. It's worked fairly consistently for the past 6 years. I still get the slightly manic times where I now write a bunch of stories and/or play a shitload of video games. I still get the slightly depressed times where I sleep a little more than normal and eat a little less. But it's not nearly as severe and is, actually, tolerable.
The reason I'm sharing the above information is that right now, I'm having a major crisis of faith that is sending me spiraling. No, not God related or any of that tripe (err, yeah, not really religious anymore). Instead, I'm thinking what the fuck am I doing and why am I doing it?
I hate my job right now. Absolutely and 100% hate and loathe it. Because I'm working in a non-profit animal shelter/humane society - I'm making less than I would be if I were in the for-profit world. The difference in wages, though, used to be made up with the personal satisfaction that I was doing everything possible to help animals, my number 1 cause. OK, so I do payroll and don't work with the animals directly most of the time. That doesn't matter in the large scheme of things because I still get that personal satisfaction.
Yesterday, that carpet was ripped out from under me. Last week, I convinced the guy doing our landscaping at home and my mother to bring in 2 stray dogs (a boxer and a rottweiler) to "do the right thing" and bring them in to the humane society so that we could attempt to find their people. The guy wanted to adopt the rottweilerif we couldn't find their homes. In fact, he was just going to take the rottweiler home with him when I convinced him to "do the right thing".
The people I work with put the rottweiler down on Sunday and I found out yesterday. Supposedly, the dog snapped at the person doing the temperment test and the supervisor signed off on euthanasia. However, the dog didn't snap at me or any of the other 6 strangers that handled the dog. The dog was friendly to the point of being almost annoying. If I hadn't convinced the guy to do "the right thing", the dog would be alive right now. I feel like a murderer. My mother feels like a murderer. If I hadn't insisted the dog get brought in here, it would be alive and that's the only thing that's been running through my head for over 24 hours. I may not have stuck the needle in that dog but I killed him all the same.
I don't want to be at work. I can't see how we, the humane society, adhered to our mission statement and our "animal bill of rights". I have no personal satisfaction about helping out animals because of this. My mood has plummeted and I'm so depressed right now that I haven't eaten since I found out and my eyes hurt because I've been crying so much.
The worst part is that it would be easy to say "find a new job". However, I'm still going to school for a degree in something that I have no experience in. I don't want to do accounting work for the rest of my life. I want to do marketing. So, I have no experience and no degree in the field that I want to transfer to. So, what's the use in looking for a new job in the same old shit I hate doing?
Add to it that there is a bunch of other things going on - money woes, personal woes and me going woe-is-me over fandom shit that shouldn't matter, and I'm not feeling all up to snuff. Blech, and I'm bringing myself further down writing this instead of the catharsis I was hoping for. Maybe I'll feel better in a bit.
I just don't want to be here. at all.
I haven't admitted this to many people but... when I was in college (or about 8 years ago, actually), I was diagnosed as being bipolar. I am not on medication and have not been on medication for 6 years. The reason for the lack of medication is that, after two years of being on it constantly and dealing with weight-gain, eating disorders, skin conditions and drug interactions, I decided to participate in an experiment to control bipolar-ity (if that's a word) with exercise and diet. It's worked fairly consistently for the past 6 years. I still get the slightly manic times where I now write a bunch of stories and/or play a shitload of video games. I still get the slightly depressed times where I sleep a little more than normal and eat a little less. But it's not nearly as severe and is, actually, tolerable.
The reason I'm sharing the above information is that right now, I'm having a major crisis of faith that is sending me spiraling. No, not God related or any of that tripe (err, yeah, not really religious anymore). Instead, I'm thinking what the fuck am I doing and why am I doing it?
I hate my job right now. Absolutely and 100% hate and loathe it. Because I'm working in a non-profit animal shelter/humane society - I'm making less than I would be if I were in the for-profit world. The difference in wages, though, used to be made up with the personal satisfaction that I was doing everything possible to help animals, my number 1 cause. OK, so I do payroll and don't work with the animals directly most of the time. That doesn't matter in the large scheme of things because I still get that personal satisfaction.
Yesterday, that carpet was ripped out from under me. Last week, I convinced the guy doing our landscaping at home and my mother to bring in 2 stray dogs (a boxer and a rottweiler) to "do the right thing" and bring them in to the humane society so that we could attempt to find their people. The guy wanted to adopt the rottweilerif we couldn't find their homes. In fact, he was just going to take the rottweiler home with him when I convinced him to "do the right thing".
The people I work with put the rottweiler down on Sunday and I found out yesterday. Supposedly, the dog snapped at the person doing the temperment test and the supervisor signed off on euthanasia. However, the dog didn't snap at me or any of the other 6 strangers that handled the dog. The dog was friendly to the point of being almost annoying. If I hadn't convinced the guy to do "the right thing", the dog would be alive right now. I feel like a murderer. My mother feels like a murderer. If I hadn't insisted the dog get brought in here, it would be alive and that's the only thing that's been running through my head for over 24 hours. I may not have stuck the needle in that dog but I killed him all the same.
I don't want to be at work. I can't see how we, the humane society, adhered to our mission statement and our "animal bill of rights". I have no personal satisfaction about helping out animals because of this. My mood has plummeted and I'm so depressed right now that I haven't eaten since I found out and my eyes hurt because I've been crying so much.
The worst part is that it would be easy to say "find a new job". However, I'm still going to school for a degree in something that I have no experience in. I don't want to do accounting work for the rest of my life. I want to do marketing. So, I have no experience and no degree in the field that I want to transfer to. So, what's the use in looking for a new job in the same old shit I hate doing?
Add to it that there is a bunch of other things going on - money woes, personal woes and me going woe-is-me over fandom shit that shouldn't matter, and I'm not feeling all up to snuff. Blech, and I'm bringing myself further down writing this instead of the catharsis I was hoping for. Maybe I'll feel better in a bit.
I just don't want to be here. at all.
