damned

I'm worried. I feel distinctly lack lustre today. Nothing tastes or smells or looks right.
I feel quite down.
'Here we go' I hear you all say. Self pitying miserable bitch syndrome hits again.
Dunno, I am so aware that I have loads of stuff to be thankful for and to be happy about. I know there's people out there who'd love to be in a nice warm house, with a decent job and two good kids.
But my head is all black and grey. I'm irritable and miserable and snappy. There is no joy, just trudging though life until it's inevitable end.
So lets get the nurse out to evaluate why I feel this way.
I haven't been well, Christmas fills me with dread and pressure. I'm not sure I've been taking my tablets... Those I didn't puke last week. My hormones are completely shot. Plus I'm tired. I got a lot of sleep to catch up with.
I also feel quite alone this week.
There is no-one to tell. There is nothing to tell. My voice won't voice the words anyways.
I read the Sunday Telegraph supplement in work today. An Article about the London Bombings and a survivor who had both legs ripped off in the blast. Someone who went through something so traumatic and life changing and horrific. I was humbled and ashamed at my feelings towards life. What have I got to be so miserable about?
And I cried a little, sat alone in the coffee room.
Not for me though... I promise not for me. I cried for him. That good man who lost so much that day.
I am a miserable cow. I hate myself and all who sail in her.