Promise to the boss.

So after  deciding to go forward with some music last night I was really excited.  Then today came, and I don’t know what it was. For one thing, I thought that I had sickleave but I don’t.  So I can use my vacation time, or make up the time, or go unpaid.  Both of which obviously increase the stress of what I thought was coming up to be a good week off where I could catch up on some stuff and rest and re-gather myself to make it through the end of August.

The secretary called into the office when I was all worked up about this, and I started like crying and doing the sobbing gasps practically right away.  Awesome. It took a LOT of concealer and Visine to make me look normal again.  Then I had a meeting at the end of the day with my boss and some other project members, so I let him know I’d like to meet with him afterward briefly.

He offered to meet with me before, because he probably just read my request as my wanting a couple minutes of his time, and I said I preferred to wait till after the meeting. And then as usual, I teared up and choked up and was on the verge of crying and told him that I could either talk to him or I could stop myself from crying but I couldn’t do both.  So I started to cry and explain the problem with the sick time to him. He was really great about it, and flexible, and willing to just work it out so that I could do whatever I needed to do. He said actually that maybe I should just go home now and not even bother coming in the next day if I didn’t feel up to it. He asked me if I was going to be all right and I was like “yeah, in the immediate future, i’ll be fine.”

Then he asked me if he could establish a safety contract with me.  As in, can I promise him that I wouldn’t kill myself in whatever period of time. I exclaimed, “I have a shrink for that!” He responded, “you have a concerned boss, too.”  And seemed pretty serious about it and so I said fine how long do you want to have it for and he suggested the end of the year and I totally let out a big hee haw guffaw, like let’s not get carried away here. So he asked what I would be comfortable with and I said I could guarantee until a week from Monday, when I was scheduled to reappear at work.  And now I am super tired, so this will need a sequel.

 

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Chester Bennington hung himself.

God damn depression. Fucking hell.

That’s the lead singer from Linkin Park, if you didn’t recognize the name.

I just listened to “Leave out all the rest” today:

I dreamed I was missing
You were so scared
But no one would listen
Cause no one else cared
After my dreaming
I woke with this fear
What am I leaving
When I’m done here?
So, if you’re asking me, I want you to know

When my time comes
Forget the wrong that I’ve done
Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed
And don’t resent me
And when you’re feeling empty
Keep me in your memory
Leave out all the rest
Leave out all the rest

Don’t be afraid
I’ve taken my beating
I’ve shared what I’ve made
I’m strong on the surface
Not all the way through
I’ve never been perfect
But neither have you
So, if you’re asking me, I want you to know

When my time comes
Forget the wrong that I’ve done
Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed
And don’t resent me
And when you’re feeling empty
Keep me in your memory
Leave out all the rest
Leave out all the rest

Forgetting
All the hurt inside you’ve learned to hide so well
Pretending
Someone else can come and save me from myself
I can’t be who you are

Missing the smallest things.

I’m so fucking lonely. I left work early, by an hour and a half, because there was a thunderstorm coming and I just couldn’t think.

I told my psychiatrist that it’s been hard to shower, which is always kind of a little sign for me that shit is hitting the bricks, and that it’s hard to concentrate at work.

He is on vacation for the next two weeks, as is my family, so it would be the perfect fucking time to commit suicide except that I’m not suicidal. I don’t think I have anything to live for, but I’m not in the headspace where I can just off myself.

I didn’t take my meds last night or this morning, and I’m so tempted to just stop taking them until I feel shitty enough to do it, but I’m pretty sure that would lead to withdrawal symptoms and totally stopping functioning at work faster than I would actually arrive at the end game, and then I just will have fucked everything up.

I’m basically waiting until this winter, when I really think that I’m going to get depressed again, and I’m going to get depressed enough to do it. Certainly lonely enough to do it.

It’s now been 3 1/2 years since I’ve had a significant other. Or anything beyond a first and last quick coffee date with a handshake or a quick A-frame hug at the end. I’ve booked a professional cuddler for four months from now, if I actually managed to make a trip 4 months from now. It’s barely 4 months since I got out of the hospital, and I can’t imagine another four full months until I have something to look forward to. And then after those two days, then what?

I imagine what kind of conversations people in the other apartments in my building are having. Just “hi, how was your day?” Or asking by text if they could pick up milk on the way home from work. Or just sitting on the couch and cuddling. I miss that so badly it’s making me tear up to think about it.

My entire human contact is going to work in the morning, and I say good morning, and my officemates say how are you and I say fine, how are you? And they say fine. And then at the end of the day they pack up their stuff and say see you tomorrow, and I say OK, have a good night! And then I come home. Alone. To an empty house. An empty couch. An empty bed.

There’s no real reason to have hopes that that will change. All of my Facebook friends and acquaintances and people at work too, who had broken up with or divorced their partners have found new partners now. Like, solid new partners and have been married for years, or moved in together, or are buying a house together. I literally don’t know anyone who’s been alone for four years by choice.

If there something about me that makes me unattractive or unlikable, I can’t change it now. I see women who are fatter than me, poorer than me, less educated than me, it doesn’t matter.

I mean, I have the occasional coffee or a phone date or Skype date with an old friend where I actually feel like a human, and somebody recognizes that I exist, but then on the day-to-day I just feel, I don’t know, like I’d be better off dead.

So then I come around to how I don’t want to live another four months like this. I certainly can’t live another four decades like this. So if I’m sad enough to think about stopping taking my medication so that I can be sad enough to actually do it, does that mean I am actually suicidal even though I’m not suicidal enough to commit suicide?

Migraine & suicide risk.

Migraine.com article about suicide risk

After following the groups for two years, researchers discovered that participants with Migraine and severe, non-Migraine headaches had a 4 times greater risk of attempting suicide than the subjects without Migraine or headache. The level of pain played a role in attempted suicide as well – study subjects with a higher level of Migraine and non-Migraine pain were at greater risk for attempted suicide. In fact, each time the pain intensity scale went up by one point, the risk of attempted suicide went up by 17%.

I… fuck… fucking weather… steroids

I have straight up had a migraine since last Wednesday. I should’ve gone into work over the weekend to make up time, but I just hang onto the bed and close my eyes. Today I took a steroid, which is supposed to be the last resort of last resort, and I managed to make it through the day but I still felt like crap, and I took a Gravol because I felt so nauseous it made my heart race for like five hours.

I cried on the bus on the way home, and then I cried on the walk home, and then I cried for like two hours when I got home, and I was working on trying to find another car but I would’ve had to have my dad cosign for me and it’s just not worth the stress…  and it’s not even so much the stress of having to deal with my dad as it is the stress of getting into a loan for years and years. I haven’t managed to keep a job for more than three years since I graduated, and I’m at 2 1/2 years for this job now,  and I feel like I’m hanging on by the skin of my teeth, not to mention that my boss told me to be discharged and get back to work or he couldn’t keep my job open for me just two short months ago.  So I pretty much feel like I’m gonna lose my job again in six months, or a year, and then I’ll be on unemployment and looking for a job again, and I’ll manage to scrape through until I kill myself,  but I’m seeing  repossession or desperation in the future.

So I guess I’ll just basically never have a car again, because it’s probably not realistic to want to save enough money to just buy one with cash. I had a car 20 years and four months ago, when I first moved to the city. So now I’m moving backwards. As soon as my lease is up here, I’m going to look for somewhere smaller to move  and my life will just shrink around me until I’m an old maid in a boarding house room with nothing and no one. I actually hope to God that I have the courage to kill myself before it comes to that point.

Depeche Mode is OK with my suicide, I think.

Some excerpts from their brilliant, painful lyrics:

 

Scum

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

OMG, it’s an anniversary.

I left work early and went to bed as soon as I got home. Now, 6 hours later, I just woke up and realized HOLY SHIT, the 25th anniversary of my attack is coming up. Less than 100 days to go. Perhaps that will be a date I will choose not to be here to see. The thought makes me feel relaxed and peaceful, as opposed to the turmoil that comes with thinking about even keeping going long enough to see Depeche Mode in the fall. I just hate feeling trapped.

It hurts, and I’m tired.

I managed to work for 6 hours and I was completely fried and on the verge of tears by the end of the day. I started tearing up in the elevator, actually, and several times on the drive home. Over nothing, really. My coworker got a call from his wife just before he went home (what to have for supper, by the sounds of it) and so I teared up because how nice for him to have a family, and how nice for me to have no one. Then I cried because it’s only Thursday and my next doctor’s appointment is next Wednesday, and because I’m going home to an empty house, and because I had a Depeche Mode CD in the car (ya, I roll old-school. Or poor, depending on your perspective) and I don’t see myself being able to go to their next concert, and on and on.

The cat is supremely happy because I made a stop on the couch instead of heading directly to bed, like I usually do, but I’m going to head to bed now. My eyes feel all hot and swollen like they do after a cry and I don’t care enough about anything to try and do any chores or anything productive. Knowing that relief is so close, and trying not to do it, is like having a suitcase with a million dollars and trying not to open it.

Depeche Mode to the fucking end.

I love Depeche Mode so much. I have spent the last half hour creating YouTube playlists for me to listen to at work because lately sometimes I need some noise just to be able to concentrate, to drown out the thoughts in my head. So I did one of music that’s fast and intense, like George Watsky,  and one of soundtracks, mostly Hans Zimmer, and one of Depeche Mode. So now I won’t have to click back every three minutes to escape whatever song was up for autoplay.

I still remember a day last week when I was driving to work and had the sudden thought “Just pull the car over and jump off the fucking bridge! If you don’t die on impact I’m sure you will from drowning and hypothermia!” At this point I haven’t been to work in 5 days (2 of them being weekend) so I don’t know how I’ll drag myself in there tomorrow but I have to, fuck. I’m gritting my teeth just thinking about it. It was a stupid fucking idea to wait until after Christmas, that’s for fucking sure, but at least now I have some DM cued up to get me through the day. The first coworker I cried in front of is gone on holidays now, and the second is done on Friday, and that’s her last day, so at least after that I can try to keep up my Public Face with being tired or having a migraine as an excuse (I never lie about having a migraine but I’m willing to now.)

And on that note, let’s read the lyrics to my life “Wrong” by Depeche Mode:

I was born with the wrong sign

In the wrong house

With the wrong ascendancy

I took the wrong road

That led to the wrong tendencies

I was in the wrong place at the wrong time

For the wrong reason and the wrong rhyme

On the wrong day of the wrong week

I used the wrong method with the wrong technique
Wrong
Wrong
There’s something wrong with me chemically

Something wrong with me inherently

The wrong mix in the wrong genes

I reached the wrong ends by the wrong means

It was the wrong plan

In the wrong hands

With the wrong theory for the wrong man

The wrong lies, on the wrong vibes

The wrong questions with the wrong replies
Wrong
Wrong
I was marching to the wrong drum

With the wrong scum

Pissing out the wrong energy

Using all the wrong lines

And the wrong signs

With the wrong intensity

I was on the wrong page of the wrong book

With the wrong rendition of the wrong hook

Made the wrong move, every wrong night

With the wrong tune played till it sounded right yeah
Wrong
Wrong
Too long
Wrong