I went to see my counsellor today over lunch and couldn’t even really talk coherently. I told her what was up — that Saturday night I’d felt really really close to hanging myself, so I rolled a blanket up and held on to it for like three hours with both hands because I was scared if I moved it would be to do the deed.

This week I have come home and gone to bed.  Literally straight in the door from work, taken my clothes off and dropped them where I stand and crawled into bed at 5:30 or whatever time I get home, and stay there until the last possible minute I can get out of bed in the morning.  Yesterday I went to work with obviously gross greasy hair and felt like crap all day, and I have vitamins and herbs (like folate) that are supposed to help with the depression that I haven’t taken in weeks because I haven’t had the… energy? Motivation? Willpower? to take the bottles out and pour a few to take to work with me.

Over the weekend I looked up what the deal was with sick leave and disability, and it turns out I get a maximum of 10 days… longer than that and the employer just dismisses you so you can go on EI instead of draining their paycheck. When my job stops my drug benefits do too, so I can only imagine what fun it will be to try and pay for all these meds out of pocket.

Anyway my counsellor thought the best and safest thing really would be to call my shrink and get me into the hospital (she said with calm-down gestures “I know this was a bad experience for you last time, but…”) but there’s no point in that if it gets me canned from my job early and gives me even more of a reason to take my own life.

Then I volunteered that I thought if push comes to shove, it would be much better to kill myself while I actually still have a job, so that there is some assurance my body would be found within a reasonably short time — surely if I didn’t show up they’d call someone after a day or two? I can think of nothing more tragic than ending up like Joyce Vincent, who died alone and whose body wasn’t discovered for three years.  Three years!  That’s heartbreaking!  Of course it would be a much shorter time for me as there isn’t any money for the bills to keep being paid automatically.


Anyway, the outcome is that I see my shrink in a couple of days and said I would be straight with him about where things are at.  Either he can help, somehow with something, or I’ll hang on as long as I can, as employment turns into unemployment, and the desperation drives me to a final decision.

I actually wonder if, as in Taylor Mali’s poem (see this post), people in my life harbor a hope that I’ll just fucking do it and get it over with, a “secret outrageous hope”, instead of straggling on like a drowning person who keeps bobbing back up to the surface at the last possible moment?

And how outrageous, how fucking extraordinary, that people can walk around seeming so blasé to each other. My coworkers noticed I was a little wound up after lunch (post-Visine and powder and Xanax) but attributed it to our bitch boss.  I wonder how they would react if they knew I was daydreaming about death? Staring at my monitor, but really thinking what messages I should leave, and to whom, on a Dead Man’s Switch service? Wondering which door I should hang myself behind?  Then they ask whether we’ve put some shitty work task on the agenda for the next shitty meeting, and I want to laugh at how little I care about these shitty work details.

The thing is that I really love the people that are in my life. I feel lucky to know them and I don’t want to make anyone hurt, or sad, or above all guilty.  I just can’t guarantee I can hold on forever for their sakes.  It’s literally years that it’s been like this and I’m well past the age of teenage angst.

They have legalized euthanasia for depression in Belgium, and I’m sure I’ll see that in my country within my lifetime – probably within a decade. I even looked up how long you have to be in Belgium to be considered a resident (three months) because I think, I hope, somehow if it comes to that and I could be euthanized by a physician instead of committing suicide, that would give people some comfort, some peace about it — that a physician felt this was an appropriate treatment for my suffering instead of thinking that I made some kind of rash or independent decision.  But then again, it’s asking me to go the extra mile for everyone else’s sake and how much more can I be expected to give?

This post is probably all over the place and it’s early but I’m again exhausted, so I’ll close.





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