Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Nothing could be better

2:1 odds I'll be going back to inpatient tomorrow. I called Rachel, my therapist, earlier this night and let her know I was considering it, and last time I did that I got practically dragged there.. I dunno though. I'm really scared of going back. Last time I numbed myself and just went with it because I had no idea what I was in for. Now I know and I'm able to be logical about it.

I keep having these extremely vivid, beautiful fantasies of jumping out windows. When I reflect deeper on them I say I'm not suicidal, but there's a warm comfort around it that has only increased over the past few days. Right now I am laying in bed on the 11th floor, two feet from my window. All it would take is me kicking out the glass and jumping. I'm free for a few seconds, I watch the buildings grow upward around me, and then in a sudden impact everything stops.

It's that sudden stop that seems so fantastic. I deeply hope there isn't anything after that. No afterlife, no reincarnation. I'm so exhausted of dealing with being alive and having anxiety and depression. I'm tired of trying so hard all the time. I can't seem to ever relax, I have to try to let my guard down unless I'm lost in some engrossing tv show, movie or conversation. But those have been few and far between lately and that's all escapism - just like drugs.

There are a few people who have made that struggle worth it but they're not really in my life anymore, and for at least one of them that's really my fault. I'm lonely. I know very few people who I relate to, who I trust and who trust me, and they're all wrapped up in their own mess and can't seem to come out of it to talk. 

Before my last major hospitalization I was too deeply wrapped up in the future and lost track of everything else. Now I'm entirely in the present and it sucks and I don't have a decent forecast for what's ahead but it looks pretty cloudy to me.

The thing that keeps coming back is how fucking expensive it is to be alive. Everything costs so much and it's just not worth it. You're born into this world owing money. I've found a few things I enjoy that people pay me money for, but I can't work a regular job. I worked two days last week and on the second day I nearly had a mental breakdown and didn't go. I don't know what it is that's stopping me now, I don't know why I'm having such a hard time doing anything productive with my life.

God, the extent of my productivity issues is only just now dawning on me. I can't do a damn thing if it matters, I'm paralyzed by ten thousand emotions crashing through me every time I try. I think my escapist desires of the past few days are backlash from forcing myself to push through them last week.

I think even hospitalization is an escapist desire. I'm not sure which is better long term, that or suicide. It seems kind of 50/50. With suicide I'm pretty sure I know what I'm getting, and it's neither good or bad, it's just nothing. Hospitalization and an attempt at recovery could just be prolonged bad with only occasional touches of good. I don't have to try to squeeze every last drop out of my life, having a high Total Aggregated Joy isn't what I'm after. I know there will be more chances at happiness if I don't jump out the window. But it's so expensive, and I feel like I'm already on borrowed time.

Part of me really wishes I hadn't called Rachel because right now I'm just looking for a sign, a direction to walk, I'm completely lost and driving in circles looking for a way out. I can follow Rachel back to the highway and keep going there for the next sixty years until I run out of gas, or I can just stop driving now and be done with it. I'm bad at quitting things, historically, but I don't feel like I'm addicted to life. I love myself, I don't like seeing me in pain, I want it to stop and I'll do whatever it takes to accomplish that. That 'nothing' seems like greener grass to me. But she is probably going to call me back tomorrow morning and depending on how things turn out, I'll probably end up not killing myself, because I just want to be told what to do and no one will tell me to commit suicide. Euthanasia is for someone with no chance of recovery, and I have a chance.

I'm just so, so, so tired, and lonely, and miserable, and I'm embarrassed that I feel this way. People pity people like me, and that makes me so fucking angry, I don't feel at all pitiful. I'm just different. The worst word in the english language is 'freak', and I am one, without a choice. It's a rare person that understands or sees the good in a freak, generally they're not too well-received.

Fuck Disney, they're a bunch of fucking liars.

1 comment:

  1. what can I say, what can I say.
    I'd miss you so much if you weren't in the world any more.
    It makes me sad that this torturing depression and anxiety haven't abated for so long for you. It's a different course than my life took and I don't know all the reasons why it's different.
    I sometimes wonder, though, if part of your intense loneliness might have started when you were young and no one really knew you.
    selfishly, I hope you don't kill yourself. The world without you would have a big hole in it.