Life

Depression has driven me to write again. So read.

I love my job, but it is fucking awful. I'm surrounded by outsiders who treat me like an outsider. I see animals suffering, and I can't always make them well. I can foresee death, and I always feel like I had a part in it.

Animals with terminal diseases don't die quickly. They don't want to die; they fight. My job is to help them feel better. And when they feel better, they stop fighting.

It's peaceful.

That's what bothers me. Death as a provider of peace. Death as a solution to suffering.

Because I have no peace. I have a lot of suffering.

I often notice a Christian acquaintance of mine sing songs about her "lord" and read her bible when she's depressed. I wonder how that helps. I never understood the appeal of religion.

What helps me is cats. Nobody else understands how cats appeal to me. Maybe cats are like my religion. Maybe I'm an Ancient Egyptian reincarnated.

I can't imagine enjoying a job that doesn't involve cats as much, but I know I will eventually leave my clinic. I love my job and I love my clinic, but people aren't happy there, and it takes a toll on me.

All I know is that the future will be both better and worse.

And then I'll die.