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.