Crying is exhausting.

Every day, multiple times a day; Wednesday and Thursday for an hour straight. Bleary, hot, swollen eyelids, a groggy brain-dead feeling, and lingering sadness are the result.


Me rn.

Got to work at 9 am. Just on the bus now, at 8:55 pm, to go home. I am tearing up and saying sternly to myself, don’t cry on the bus! Do. Not. Cry. On. The. Bus., dammit!

I have to go to work this weekend; I’m so far behind on hours. Probably 3 or 4 full days by the time I miss next Tuesday for the ketamine.

EI (unemployment insurance) fucked me over today too, but I’ll write about that when I’m not on my phone. For now: don’t cry on the bus.

Crying like a baby.

I was going to quit the outpatient group, and had¬†actually called and spoken to them yesterday about it. Then this morning came, and I couldn’t get out of bed. There didn’t seem any reason to get out of bed. ¬†Why not sleep till noon and then go in to work at 1 o’clock? ¬†I got all sad at the thought of just moving invisibly like that, invisibly going on the bus to my invisible work and then back to the house. So I went to today’s group, and told him that I’d like to try to go next week.

But I went to service Canada to give them a copy of my medical papers, and then I had to phone the EI ¬†line from there and wait on hold and then get a new guy and be put on hold again, and then it turned out that I needed to have the numbers for January and February for how much I worked and how much I made, which I didn’t have, because those were at work. So I went to drive home because I don’t have money to park at work. It’s like $14 a day and they don’t take debit. So went home, caught the train¬†to work,¬† got teary-eyed on the train and looked out the window and said sternly to myself “don’t fucking cry on the train! ¬†Get a hold of yourself!”

Then I got to work and figured out the fucking EI, which is really hard because their periods don’t correspond with my pay periods and I ¬†cried through the whole thing. I only got like an hour of work done and I feel like I’m at the point where I’ll never make the time up, so fuck it. ¬†And I don’t have as much coming to me for EI¬†as I had hoped, which sucks because there would’ve been no problem being off work and getting benefits for three months if my dick ass boss had allowed it.

I’ll basically have to wait until the next check to see what a normal average pay period paycheck¬†will look like ¬†but I think it’s going to be significantly less than what I was being paid before, ¬†so I don’t really know how that’s going to work out with planning to try to go to Depeche Mode.

I just feel tired and sad.

I need something to live for.

I’m lonely as fuck. I’m straight up scared that¬†no one will ever love me again. It’s been three years, and I haven’t gotten as much as¬†a second date. ¬†We did an exercise in group a few days ago about how balanced our lives were, and I got all teary because it asked about whether we get hugs or physical affection, and no, I don’t. No. ¬†I could certainly go and¬†pay the professional cuddler¬†to hug me, but…

I don’t understand why when there are people less attractive than me and less healthy than me and they’ve got themselves relationships… why do people tell me that I should be happy being all by myself first and only then do I get a crack at another person? If you had to be perfect by yourself first, I think a lot of the people in relationships would have to be single.

and it’s just loneliness on a really basic simple level that I can’t seem to get across to healthcare providers. It’s chatting about like what looks like it might be good and what looks like marketing bullshit in the grocery store. It’s having someone to text to say that you’re leaving work and on your way home. It’s having someone to give you an ice pack when you have a migraine. ¬† It’s not necessarily the sex with fireworks and the dramatic stuff that you might think of about relationships.

My job isn’t important¬†enouvh, and it doesn’t pay enough, for it to be a reason to live.

So starting tomorrow I’m going to microdose on mushrooms. We’ll see how that goes.



Surprise! Migraine!

I couldn’t fall asleep last night; I was taking sleeping pills at four in the morning. Then by actual morning I had a migraine and slept for 12 hours without calling into work or anything. And now I’m kind of not tired because I slept all day, so I guess it’s more sleeping pills for me.

Flat out, but uplifted.

I’ve had a migraine all day, which fucked over my plans for going into work, to make up for last Monday which I missed due to a migraine. So I’m going to have to go in tomorrow, and I had plans to see a friend in person so that really sucks.

On the bright side, I managed to connect with a long distance friend today and we talked for two hours.  Oh my God, I feel so much better, not awesome, but I connected with somebody and they heard me and I feel validated.

I don’t know how I’m going to manage just my tasks of daily living, because it took me two hours to work up the energy to have a shower and now I’m going to sleep. I need to do laundry, do dishes, change my sheets, and I don’t know how I’ll fit it all in.

Depeche Mode is OK with my suicide, I think.

Some excerpts from their brilliant, painful lyrics:



You’re calling, and you’re falling
And there’s nowhere left to run
And you’re weeping, and not sleeping
And you’re begging for your gun

You’re dead inside, you’re numb
You’re hollow, and shallow
Your empty life is done

Pull the trigger
Pull the trigger
(Hey scum, hey scum)
Pull the trigger
(Hey scum, hey scum)
Pull the trigger


No More (This is the Last Time)

This is the last time
I’ll say goodbye
The last time
Then we won’t have to lie
The last time
(All the memories, all our pain)
This is the last time
(All the memories, all our pain)
The last time

I seem sad? I am sad.

I ¬†cried all through yesterday’s outpatient group. The content wasn’t even sad, we were just talking about having balance in our lives, but I just sat there and had tears dripping down my face the entire time. I cried on the bus on the way to work too actually.

I  left a voicemail with the nurse who is my primary therapist last night, asking if I could see her to talk about what would happen when the group ended. She called me back today, and said that she had had a cancellation so I could go see her at 2:30 if I wanted to. So I basically left right then and there and hopped on the bus.

When I got there I pretty much started crying again right away, and she was said that she was glad to be able to see me that day because I seem so sad. ¬†And yes, I am sad. Depeche Mode’s album came out today, and I think I’ve listened to each song about 10 times, and they’re fantastic. But there’s six or seven months before their concerts. I can’t get over thinking how in the hospital I started counting down 31 days to the album release. And now it’s released, and it’s been the longest 31¬†fucking days ever. I just get¬†up and drag myself to work and back, ¬†and I feel like the tears¬†are right at the top of my throat all the fucking time.

I’m sure my boss thinks everything is dandy. I had a meeting with someone today that I had to cancel on in January, for work, and he asked me if I was going to take a vacation. How the fuck would I pay for vacation? I don’t have any fucking benefits. I get paid a percentage in lieu of vacation time, ¬†but I still haven’t gotten my employment insurance from five fucking weeks ago because I’m waiting for them to process the doctor’s note¬†that I sent them. ¬†Anyway, I’m probably the poorest person at work. Everybody else has a partner, and either has¬†a¬†house or goes on vacations or what have you. So I’m sure people don’t think that I’m living paycheque to paycheque it because it just doesn’t occur to them, because that’s not where they’re at.

I’m most worried about the group ending because I’m pretty much crying every fucking day at work now. By the end of the day I’ve just run out of the ability to hold out, and so I just sit there and work with tears running down my face. Not, like, ragged breath sobbing, just sitting there crying. ¬†And that’s fine for now, when I take off for three hours in the middle of the day to go to group, so the end of my day is after everyone has gone home. I don’t know how I’ll cope with full workdays, if I start heading my limited the middle of the afternoon.

On the way back to work from my appointment with the nurse, it actually occurred to me that I don’t have to wait any fucking six or seven months for a Depeche Mode concert. If I can’t stand to be here anymore, I don’t have to be. I know what I need to do. That thought made me happier than anything else has in weeks. I’m not trapped, and I don’t have to deal with the dread I feel at the thought of living six or seven more months. ¬†Yep, suicide is back on the table. The nurse talked to me about going back into the hospital, and whether I would be able to turn myself in at¬†Emergency instead¬†of being certified, and I know honestly I wouldn’t, because I didn’t want to be saved in January. ¬†She said why not, because I might as well go back into the hospital if¬†I¬†have nothing to lose, which seems like a good argument but I just don’t feel that’s where I will¬†be at.

It’s as if I’m using the Pomodoro method except on my life instead of on chores. Instead of saying the chores are too overwhelming, so I’m just going to do 20 minutes of dishes and then quit. I’m thinking that I’ll just keep going for N¬†number of days, and if I don’t feel better by that time I’m gonna fucking be out of here.

So then I got home tonight. And checked my email. There was one from this¬†guy on Match. ¬†Match, that¬†I signed up for like the last fucking June when I didn’t feel like killing¬†myself. and then my mood was so in the toilet that I totally forgot to cancel the auto renewal. And it renewed for six more months. So I reactivated my profile when I got out of the hospital. What could it hurt?

So, one guy reached out to me. Good looking, older than me but not too old, has a good job, and his saying that he maybe wanted to have kids was the only thing that was at¬†all off-putting on his profile. So he invited me for coffee two weeks ago, ¬†and there wasn’t really any problem with keeping the conversation going or anything. He messaged me right afterward saying ¬†it was nice to meet me, and then he’s been messaging me every day since. ¬†Nothing big, just a hi how are you, here’s what I’m up to kind of thing. So today, with the weekend upon us, I thought I’d see what was what. ¬† So I replied to his latest message and said that I’d like to get together again when he¬†has some free time.

When I got home, there was a message waiting for me saying that he had to be honest that he didn’t think that we were the best match, and he was sorry if that hurt. So I replied saying thanks for letting me know, best of luck, and deactivated my profile.

And now I’m sitting here wondering, why the fuck have you been messaging me¬†every day for two weeks, ¬†if you didn’t fucking like me. And how the fuck can you decide if you like somebody in the course of one or two hours? I’ve had a few first dates now, and I don’t think that I feel I could make up my mind about any of the guys without meeting a few times. Like, they’d have to be a real creep or really ugly ¬†for me to say no, there’s no potential here at all, full stop.

So what the fuck is wrong with me? I haven’t mentioned this to my psychiatrist, or to the nurse, because I knew that they’d be like oh I shouldn’t be thinking about dating, I should wait on that till I’m healthier, etc. etc. And I actually didn’t really think that I was going to get a relationship out of it, ¬†although that was a tiny¬†spark of idiotic hope in the back of my mind. All I hoped was¬†that I could get a fucking second date. Just so that I would know that I could. I’ve been single for more than three years now. I haven’t got a second date, I haven’t even gotten a kiss, for THREE YEARS, and I have no fucking idea why. ¬†Am I a lot uglier than I thought I am? Or a lot less likable? It doesn’t really matter, because whatever it is, I can’t fucking change it now.

So now I’m really hurting. And I feel like a fucking idiot for letting my hopes build up at all, but it seemed to me that when he messaged me saying it was nice to meet me and kept messaging me every day for two weeks, that¬† “sorry we’re¬†not a good match” was not where it was going. Why don’t you just say nice to meet you, lots of luck in your search, and leave it at that?

Now I’m back to, I could literally die for some cuddling. And I’m too sad and¬†too broke to go pay the professional cuddler just to have some human contact. I can barely even dictate this blog post through the tears. If overdosing was an effective and reliable method, I’d fucking kill myself tonight. But it’s not, and I don’t even think I have a single sleeping pill, ¬†and I don’t think I get to have an actual conversation with any actual person until next Wednesday, when I get¬†20 minutes with my psychiatrist. ¬†Maybe I should skip the appointment and just speed things up, because this hurts too much. I can’t fucking take it anymore.


Job security.

It was a really long day today. I had ketamine in the morning, and then ¬†saw my psychiatrist afterward so I didn’t get to work until 4 o’clock. I was in that semi still having a migraine partly over having a migraine phase, so I was cold and sweaty and clammy and generally feeling disgusting.

My boss came to talk to me ¬†when I got to work and it went much better than our conversations and previous days. I kind of felt him out about the position with benefits, saying that there are a lot of qualified people out there, and he said that as far as he was concerned it was just a formality, ¬†and if there were qualified people he might consider them for additional work. Then he apologized for the delay. ¬†So that’s good. Really good, actually. The pay is way less then I’ve made in the past, but the benefits mean a lot and there aren’t a lot of jobs where I can come and go as I please and take us much time off in the middle of the day for appointments as I have been.

Now¬†I’m at home and I still have that sticky clammy post-migraine feeling. Yuck.