Texts I Sent Today

All I can think about is that movie I've been meaning to watch, My Dinner with Andre. That line he has about when he was a kid he'd think about the future and creative things, but now all he thinks about is money. I find that my approach to my job makes me less of myself. It's the only way to make it work. 

It's like as soon as I walk through the door, I'm not there. 

This has only really become so stark just today. There was a balance before, but now there's just an apathy. What is hard to adjust to with this job is the continuity of service and denial. The source of the animus i see in the faces of patients. It tears away any illusions. I just get left with loose ends and uncertainties. None of the problems with my job are unique to my job; there are no unique experiences. And I can commend the quality of my coworkers and management in that, I find no flaw or specificity in any of their interactions with me that would stick out as grossly negative or abusive in any way. They are good coworkers, who can only do so much. It's the context of the failure that is entangled with my job that drives me towards a strategy of depersonalization. 

I find that I cannot compartmentalize the frustrations I see. My knowledge of the contexts behind the problems doesn't mend a mangled conscience. I don't feel right about this job, but not in a manner where I can find a reason to leave. Through it all I keep my wits about me in regards to my awareness of the global welfare. I can't even use social media for fun anymore, and I don't have any reason to. It's a window into a thousand holocausts happening around me, all of which I try to do my best to advocate against. But it's a disgusting feeling, coming back into work. To know that it's superfluous, it's miniscule. I look after myself at the expense of millions. It's the burden that every person feels in this world right now.

All I can do is make sure my presence is known in the slightest. To be one of the few who sees and cares, regardless of how much power I really have. I have to use all of it. What I complain about, it's nothing. It's paltry. Those that hold the weight of the world on their shoulders are those that are slaughtered for daring to lift their heads towards the sun. I'm not one of them, and I can only watch.

This job makes me feel powerless and weak. It makes me feel like an accessory to murder every single day.