Quick admission of vulnerability: I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m running in circles with no direction and confused, tired, and failing. It feels like the only way to find myself is to throw myself into doing MORE things… which ultimately feels like I’m spinning into more madness, isolation, and fear.

Backing up: I’ve committed to doing more things. Way more than I think I can handle with the back of my mind saying, oh you got this. Push through. The only GOOD THING is that I have a stable job with good people to work with. It’s like my little 9-5 bubble that sustaining. It’s the world outside of that shield that’s stressing me out into a space where heavy sighing has replaced normal breaths.

I do this to feel loved. To feel needed. If I didn’t do these “things” than I would feel like I’m painting myself into more of a boxed corner with no one to see my worth… my value.

Depression? Not really. Too stressed out to be depressed.

The TRIGGER that has led to this point: Trying to find out what I do for my playwriting career. I’ve found myself TRYING TO FIND the next steps towards a destination that’s in the ether! It fucking scares me that I feel like I’ve chosen a career where I HAVE NO IDEA what I want from it! Shit.

photo credit: NYCDOT <a href=”″>Summer Streets 2011: Human Hamster Wheel</a> via <a href=””>photopin</a> <a href=””>(license)</a>

Article by Conrad

Conrad's a San Francisco Bay Area Playwright. He loves long walks upon the concrete and rainy days. Aside from writing words for actors to regurgitate into an audience's ears and eyes, he loves sports, 90's R&B, and learning.

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