As The Paint Dries

As I paint over my memories and destructive tendencies that adorn the walls of my prison and my safety I feel a collective wave of memories wash over me. What the hell have I been doing with all my time? Most of it is just a colourless blur of insanity. Nothing makes sense. I'm not even sure if I want it to make sense. Maybe I'm better off not knowing. Time and time again my questioning has gotten me into trouble. It's taken me down paths I never thought I'd venture down; down trails that I never knew existed. I'm at a loss for how I got to this point in my life. I'm baffled how I've lived through all that I have. 
These days as I wander around at work, collecting items, scanning them and stocking them into neat little boxes, the reality seems to blur and fade away. One minute I'm scanning a pair of knickers to pack in an order and the next I'm falling down the rabbit's hole. It begins to feel like I'm in a sort of simulation. It's completely mind-numbing. I walk around the store hundreds of times during my 6-7 hour shifts and all the times that I've gone around all begin to feel like one big circle. Like I'm a hamster on a wheel, running around and never moving anywhere, never getting anything done. 
Sometimes I think that I really did die in one of my suicide attempts and this state is purgatory or hell. I don't really believe in those places, but I suppose anything is impossible and these state of being, based on their common descriptions, do fit the current situation. I really just don't know.  I'm sure it's the depression fucking with me, well 90% sure, but who's ever 100% sure of anything? Day after day it's the same daunting tasks. I don't know how I'm going to cope with the boredom. There's like no excitement or at least veracity. I'm completely disconnected. 

The little bit of humanity I once possessed has been stripped away from me. I can't function. Well, I function far less than I did before. Everything is seen through hazy tunnel vision. It's like all of this is just a simulation. Nothing matters here. I can do anything I want and there are no consequences. The walls melt away and I'm standing on the verge of greatness. I'm asleep. That's the only logical conclusion. I'm asleep. I'm still a little child and all of this is just a dream. It's my way of dealing with arguing parents, the isolation from my peers and my crippling self-esteem issues. Well, not a dream, but a nightmare. I'm not sure if I want to wake up or not. Either way, I'm wilted and faded. 

No matter what I do, I'm not good enough. It's really getting to me. I'm not able to sleep. The stress is kicking my insomnia into hyperdrive. The last time I had a restful sleep was....well, I think David Cameron was still the PM. I'm working myself to the bone. I have to get up early to get there, I get home late, barely sleep because of all the failures of mine I'm told throughout the day and constantly being nagged at. I'm not a fucking miracle worker. My anxiety over this job is like unreal. The pressure is unreal. Each day that I have to work I wake up with a headache, my stomach turns and I'm sick pretty much every morning before I have to go in. I panic that I won't be able to find every item on the shopping list and that I will be yelled at. This not being good enough, the two-facedness of everything and the nagging at me, if I can't find something, reminds me of everything that I went through as a child. It's like some kind of PTSD maybe. I don't know how to communicate things in a proper manner. I'm trapped in a Hell of my own making and while I'm clawing at the walls dying to escape at the same time I'm getting a kind of weird power kick. I guess I just like the storage room and that I can go in there.

We're going down in flames.