When is it called giving up?

Gabriel Garzón-Montana loaded quick on my phone, both earbuds were firmly placed in my ear canal waiting to receive the calming vibrations being delivered from "Fruitflies". Weirdly, before the track stated, I didn't hear the connection tone my headphones usually play on startup. Never mind, maybe in all the chaos of my wandering thoughts, I probably missed it.

The track started. Right ear beautifully transformed noughts and ones into melodic analogue bliss. Left ear, absolutely fuck all sound emanating from the bud. Like a smoothly, thinly iced pineapple cake, the last bit of medium rare sirloin on the fork, the chocolate milk dregs in the bottom of the bowl, the last bit of ink in the biro.

I was done.

I had no more energy left to expel on a work place where I feel so uncomfortable. Challenging the universe to give me the strength to get through my day, the depressing dread of knowing work looms in twelve hours time. In debt to myself knowing all this prep time to endure eight hours at work, will bite me in the arse. Agonising over moving, money, career, new jobs, friends, my ill parents. I have nothing left to give; I'm tired all the time.

But what is giving up? I've been at my current workplace for the last eight weeks. And I haven't had one day where I felt this is becoming my home. there are two-hundred-forty plus employees in one spot. That's a lot to navigate. Even when I ground myself in the reality and rationalise building integrity and relationships won't happen immediately. My gut, intuition, whatever you want to call it, was screaming at me from before I accepted this job that it was a mistake; something isn't right. Everyday, that feeling gets stronger and consumes me. Yesterday was a particularly bad day at work. I felt alone because I was alone, hardly any support and no fucks given when I voiced my challenges of the day. I checked out. I saw whatever fucks I had left, burn my uniform sodden with kerosene, as it walked out of the door, flipping the bird and pissing on the products. I'm out.

The rational side of me though kept telling me to give it more time. Jeremiah had to realign my thought trail and remind me, this is only a job. Your mental heath is paramount to anything else. Just don't do something rash. Again that rational thought is telling me, how soon, is too soon to hand in your notice? The management team are going to be annoyed that you wasted eight weeks of their time. Give it time, A. You'll get there. One thing I do know, nothing is going to cost me my mental health. Nothing is ever worth that. But questions still loom

Is recognising that something isn't right for you, bailing on an opportunity that may end up propelling your career?

What else will it cost? And is it worth it?