Where the Hell Have I Been?

So… it’s been four months. I didn’t fall off the face of the earth — just into a spiral of burnout, depression, and corporate absurdity. The kind that makes you stop journaling, stop cooking, stop doing anything remotely joyful — except maybe feeding your cat, because he will absolutely stage a rebellion if you don’t.

A lot has happened. And if you're still here — hi. Let me walk you through this hot, hot mess.

The Job That Ate My Brain

Let’s start with the job. It was the kind of job that looked good on paper but slowly drained the soul out of me, one Power BI dashboard at a time. Four years — omg, who would've thought I’d last that long? I stayed so long, it ended up costing me my mental health."

Meetings that made no sense. Tasks passed around like hot potatoes. Labels and dismissals that slowly chipped away at my confidence. My boundaries blurred, my sleep vanished, and my sense of self? She left the chat.

Eventually, I found myself spiraling — not the cute kind with journaling and affirmations, but the kind where you’re crying in front of your laptop wondering how everything got this bad.

Burnout, Depression, and the Disappearing Me

I stopped writing. Stopped stretching. Stopped cooking. Stopped caring. All the little joys that made me “me” faded into background noise as my brain screamed louder than everything else.

Even Diablo noticed. He’d stare at me, then walk away — clearly unimpressed.

I wasn’t lazy. I was exhausted. Spiritually, mentally, emotionally bankrupt.

Taking the Break I Needed (and Actually Using It)

Then came the 6-week Mental Health leave. Finally — space to breathe.

I began my mornings slowly: light journaling, basic stretches (the kind that wouldn’t impress anyone on Instagram), and trying to remember who I was before all of this.

The goal? Recover. Reset. Try to piece together the fragments of the person I used to be. And somewhere in between the sweat-soaked afternoons (thank you, unbearable summer) and Diablo flopping dramatically on the floor, I started organizing documents — for a labor case.

Because no, I’m not just healing — I’m also fighting back. I don’t expect miracles from the case, but I’m hoping for justice. Or at the very least, a proper closure to say: “That was messed up — and it wasn’t okay.”

Therapy, Psychiatry, and a Prescription for Sleep

Somewhere during that leave, I reached out for professional help. I took a psychological assessment. Then I saw a psychiatrist — something I never imagined doing until life forced my hand.

Diagnosis? A mix of stress, anxiety, hypervigilance, maybe ADHD or Bipolar even - I will know soon! Treatment? Some calming and sleeping meds. Yes I'm on meds lol.

Side effect: I now sleep like a cursed fairytale princess. All day. All night. I’ve basically become a soft-shell hermit with a sleep schedule that rivals Diablo’s.

But you know what? It’s helping. For the first time in months, my thoughts aren’t attacking me on loop. I’m still tired, but not in the same soul-draining way.

Clawing My Way Back to Myself

As I slowly emerge from the fog, I find myself reaching for old loves again. I’m journaling more. Cooking simple things — when the heat doesn’t feel like the sun is personally out to get me. Diablo supervises, obviously.

I’m also job hunting. This time, I’m being picky. I want better pay. More respect. Maybe even a little peace. (I did send out an intention to the witch goddesses for prosperity. Manifestation game strong.)

I don’t just want to survive anymore. I want to thrive.

Therapy Is Not a Luxury — It’s a Lifeline

I swear to God, I’m not quitting therapy ever again.

CBT has helped me see things differently. I now understand that therapy is an investment — not an expense. Not just for crisis mode, but for making better decisions, finding clarity, and standing up for myself.

Because let’s face it — there will always be toxic diabolical people. That’s life. But now I’m working on having enough self-worth and strength so they don’t have power over me.

The Future? Still Unwritten — But I'm Here for It

So what’s next?

I want to rebuild. I want to finally start that doom-bunker tiny home with Diablo as my evil sidekick. I want to get a job where I’m respected, compensated fairly, and not gaslit into burnout. I want to keep growing, healing, and building the life I know I deserve.

I’m not where I want to be yet — but hope is slowly returning.

So if you’re still here, reading this — thank you. Stick around. I’m still here, and I’m not done yet.

Healing isn’t linear, and neither is progress. But we show up, stretch, feed the cat, and try again tomorrow.