Reddish Musings

I think many people can sympathize with hating their jobs. In fact, most people probably have it worse than I do when it comes to their career of the moment, be it for the long run or for the college break.

Oh, that reminds me, I need to buy books.

Anyway.

It's not that I think I have it worse than anyone else. I complain a lot, but only because I get surrounded by miserable people who complain just as much as I do. I refer to myself as the emotional sponge, because it's true.

My brain can only take so much misery and complaining before it starts to soak it up, to stress about it, to worry in other people's stead. Many of my friends end up feeling better after venting to me, but me? I feel worse. So much worse.

It takes a lot for me to put a stop to it. I am so susceptible to people around me that once I start slipping down a misery hole, I can't see the sunlight shining down the top, I can only fathom how deep it goes.

But no matter. I've reached the point where I cannot keep emptying myself out for people who don't need that. Nobody has asked me to carry their burdens for them. They're just airing them, not asking me to carry it. The burden is still theirs, but making it known helps lessen the pain.

I must learn to listen, not to take and bear. If I'm to have any success in my future, I have to. I'll go insane, otherwise.