Just over a week ago, back when things were good, I had a brief phase of rather compulsively applying for jobs. Because, y’know, it’d be fun, and it’d be something to do.

Only, of course, as it always does, my past enthusiasm and motivation have come back to bite me on the arse. Because now (and if you’ve read any of the self-indulgent twaddle I’ve been writing here for the past few days, you’ll know what kind of a state I’m in now), I’ve been getting emails from the people responsible for the jobs I’ve applied for. And it turns out that, in my ridiculous frenzy of last week, my applications, covering letters, etc. weren’t perhaps as garbled as I’ve been imagining in the time since my mood turned for the worse. Because I’ve been getting emails. About being on shortlists (shudder). And (really massive shudder), they want me to do things, to prove I’m the best person for the job.

So, on Wednesday, I’ve got an as-yet-unspecified writing task to do, in order to progress to an interview. Which isn’t so bad, I suppose – unless they ask me to write about my thoughts or feelings, because I think you know what kind of drivel that brings out in me. And on Thursday, I’m taking a short (pfft! Two and a half hours!) trip into one of the more menacing circles of hell. A trip involving the triple horror of “a group exercise, written questions and a short individual interview”. A trip for which I am asked to dress “smart/casual”, which I can only presume means something other than the pyjamas and increasingly-lank hair of the past few days.

And I’m more than a little tempted to send them brief but polite emails saying that I’ve changed my mind and don’t want to be considered for the jobs anymore. But I’m more than a little terrified that they might ask for reasons. And also, perhaps if I do it but get turned down, then any future self will be a little bit more reluctant to go around throwing me into shitty situations. And there is the fact that, should the currently-seemingly unlikely happen, and I decide to actually stay alive, then I probably do need to actually try to have some form of employment, because I could really use the money (I get so frightened and ashamed of asking for my parents’ help), and should I actually become a completely different person and decide to stay alive for any meaningful amount of time, then it’d be useful to have some sort of evidence that I am capable of holding down any sort of employment.

Only, I’m not, am I? And my chances of getting a job when I’m half-convinced I’ve forgotten how to speak, when I can hardly raise the energy to get out of bed, and when I can think of few more frightening things than interacting with strangers, are slim.

Gaaaah. Nightmare.