endless nothingness of something

I need to get out.
They keep telling me to stay; I'd be a soldier for a great cause.
Who gives a shit about causes any more.
nobody ever gave a damn about my causes.
I work for the newspaper.
I spend more
sweat
blood
heartache
And time - than anyone I know. Always striving, making things better, making things work.
I. Am. The. Best.
I know I am.
But who gives a shit.
I work till my eyes burn. The finish product is on a floor somewhere around this town. My name stained, my work ripped.
I wonder if Hemmingway had the same trouble.
I'm proud.
Every day I watch as someone else gets picked for an award.
Every day I listen as someone else gets praised.
My mom doesn't even praise me. My girlfriend doesn't even praise me.
My boss calls what I write dumb.
"This is stupid, what you wrote."
It's a fucking sports story, honey. How can anyone fuck that up. She says I can. That makes me feel good.
I'm getting out. Sorry I'm not soldier material. I've been passed over too much, spit at too many times.
Why did I even try?
You just get tired sometimes, honey. Tired of trying.
Tired of endless nothingness.