Work rant from a deranged person

Most days I've left the office recently have been with an overwhelming feeling of disgust. At what, I can't say, but around 16:30 every day a switch flips and I'm hit with a slow ramping panic attack until I leave with extreme haste, when it's no longer bearable. Struck completely dumb by an intense anxiety and a need to be absolutely anywhere else as fast as possible no matter what. Objectively the work's not even bad, that's the worst part. If there were something obvious to point at and blame it'd feel less like shadowboxing. I don't know if I'm just oversensitive to something I can't even describe, or if I just can't cut it in the professional world with the collection of neurotic tendencies I call a charming personality. All I want to do is talk about how awful it feels, but those conversations are never satisfying. It feels like the only two ways to stay sane are to be a complete fellating boot urchin that'd passionately die on the company hill, or a completely apathetic and carefree bum skating by doing no work and collecting paychecks. Work is either your entire life, or none of it. But what's left for those of us in the middle? What if I don't give a flying fuck about any work-family, drop-ceiling, interpersonal, "how was your weekend" corporate mind-flaying? What if every fumbled conversation simple enough to go into a flow chart, or desk lunch FOMO/group lunch stimulation nuke one-two head punch psychically hurts me? What if I still want to feel competent and satisfied in the 8 hours a day I trade for money I don't even care about. It feels like you must either slowly tend towards apathy, or lose the ability to discern between workspeak and a real human conversation and get a vice grip on the boot no-hands. I am envious of both of these positions. I know this isn't real though. I know there are well adjusted people who treat a job like a job and ride it out perfectly happily. I just don't think I am one of those people, nor can become one. I can't see a world where the light at the end of the tunnel shunts me into one of my fake dichotomic grooves. I'd like to think it's the oversensitivity, because that feels more generous than whatever deficiency of social skill or overabundance of selfishness would be the alternative. All I know is I can't stay in the middle or I think I'll go insane