Giving up

I want to give up. Honest I do. I've had a crappy couple of weeks and things aren't getting any better. Husband tries his best but does crazy hours and basically I am left holding sproglet. The job situation isn't improving and I feel so fresh out of ideas and inspiration that I feel like I am a walking zombie. A walking zombie who's tear ducts are doing overtime. Three weeps today - one in the street. Snotty nose, tears tripping me, hard to breathe - to the point an old man stopped walking, turned round and clocked me, a concerned look spread over his craggly face. Once one tear falls it is hard to stop.

I know I shouldn't compare my life to others - it does me no good - but why the hell is it so fucking hard for me to get work? I mean, was there a media party that everyone was invited to bar me? A bloody BBC one? Does someone out there practice black magic to a fine art and has a little shrine of hate to me? What is going on??? I have spent over a year trying to break into tv drama - and I have no fight left. No fire in my belly. The tank is empty. I just want to curl up under the duvet and not get up until someone has a job ticket with my name on it. We should move in 5 weeks - and how will I pay my share of the mortgage? The stress of this consumes me daily. I feel sick when I think about it. Then today - just when I couldn't get lower - my Dad calls. The show I gave my heart and soul to - the one I flew back to Belfast for every weekend with 4 month old sproglet - is back. With a new presenter. Not that anyone told me. It is the ultimate humiliation. Fair enough the TV company is making redundancies - and has recruited said presenter from within - and it is a differnt style of show - less young, more political... But I can't help feel it is a slap in the face. Oh yeah - kick me when I am down. Get your big boots on - with the steel toe caps - great. Now aim!

Am I turning into one of those half empty people? I dunno. I just feel flat. Christ if I wasn't on the anti-depressants I would be calling the Samaritans rather than volunteering for them. I know - I am meant to give out positive vibes and then they all coming raging back to me boomerang stylee and lo and behold - life is a bowl of cherries. I just wish I could get a break. I keep thinking why me? Then beating myself up for being such a self-pitying self-obsessed arse. I just wish I knew a way out of this all. A way to have - dare I say it - some stability in life. I'm a good person - I pay taxes, volunteer, floss, pick up litter, recycle etc etc. All I want is to work and earn a crust at something I enjoy and challenges me. Is that too much to ask?

Ok - enough of my pity party. I just feel shattered. Lost. Disappointed and disenchanted. I just want things to change and I have tried and tried and don't know what to do any more. Mr Big at the beeb has yet to get back to me. I feel like the girl who had the date from heaven and yet - he never called.

But I did go and see 'Horton hears a who'at the cinema today. Sproglet loved it. The moral is - a person is still a person, no matter how small. Which is good because I feel very small indeed.