happy birthday to me

it’s here. happy birthday to me, I suppose. I survived another year of living with myself, of beating myself up and despising who I am and what I haven’t accomplished.

a friend has to postpone birthday hangouts last night. instead, a different friend came over last night and gave me a few gifts. I skipped the gym this morning. I have had a few wishes her at work; I’ve received a few texts from my Louisiana folk too. then there’s an unrelated work hangout this afternoon. in the evening, I’m going to Noodles and Company with a third friend; he will probably pay, knowing him. then tonight I’ll cry myself to sleep. Saturday, Brian will take me to dinner and to see Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat. at some point, I know I’ll get a gift from another friend who always sends something.

 

I wanted to cry when I woke up this morning. I really hoped that my gift from The-Powers-That-Be would be my not waking up finally. alas.

my sleeping issues have returned. I’m not sure what’s up with that. I mentioned to Brian about going back to a sleep specialist, and he agreed that it was a good idea.

my depression is worse, too; but that typically happens around my birthday.

I haven’t been to therapy in several months. she had a health issue that kept her out of work. she wants to meet Sep 2. I liked what work we were doing when we were actually doing it. but her constantly cancelling and rescheduling appointments was a real pain, and I had decided that I wouldn’t go back. but now, with the state I’m in, maybe I should. for now, at least. …man, I dunno.

I got a UTI last week. haven’t been back to my kickboxing since then. I know that’s not helping my mood any. I also ran out of my fibro and my axiety meds two weeks ago. so that’s taking a toll.

 

overall things should be great for me. but I’m crazy, and things are not good in my Mind.

so yeah. happy birthday to me.

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that darn cat

we thought The Cat had escaped.  like, completely.  we thought it got out of the Office and left through Zero’s pet door back out into the wild.  this has been a concern since Thu afternoon.

we moved this week’s Date Nite to Monday, and we almost just didn’t have it because I was having a breakdown about this stupid cat.

then this morning, Brian swears he heard a noise in front of him, while Zero was behind him.  also, dry food that we had forgotten about (outside the live traps) was all gone, and it was on top of the giant tower — where Zero is very unlikely to go.  there was also something knocked off the tip top of the highest bookcase — also a non-Zero location.

so there’s a possibility…

I just wish we knew for sure.  and I really hope we catch her before my parents come up in five days…

work nigh resulted in self-injury

I was lying on my side, repeating a phrase with which was I was far too familiar. at the “ch” sound in the collection of words, I felt the top of my tongue bounce of the roof of my mouth in a familiar pattern. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

I couldn’t breathe out of my nose, and I could barely transmit breathes past the sounds I was chanting. my eyes burned, and I could feel the air against the entire surface of my eyeballs. tears from the topside eye flowed into the lower. snot was dribbling out of my nostrils, passing just above my upper lip and down onto the couch.

but I didn’t cut. I didn’t pull out any hair. I only hit my head a few time. I didn’t scratch or burn or bite, or anything else that I wanted so terribly to do. I didn’t even drink. I Disappeared for a little bit to calm down, also known as purposefully disassociating. then I slowly rose and took a klonopin. I had no reason to be alive, and even less reason to be awake. I actually had a say-so in the latter, so I worked towards a goal — Disappear until tomorrow.

as I swallowed the pill, a shot of memories ran past my mind as I recalled how what was previously such a wonderful day pushed me into this dark, hateful place….

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Death of a Saleswoman

I’m a good saleswoman.  I can make you buy just about anything.  when I was just a peon at the portrait studio, I was capable of having you purchasing so many portraits, you wouldn’t know what to do with them all.  when I was a cashier at a book store, I constantly broke through the roof in membership card sales.  I was always one of the most successful Girl Scout cookies seller in my childhood.  I’ve always been able to get people to buy what I want to them to buy.

and this time around, I over-successfully sold me.

that’s how I feel at work.  I think I over-sold myself to them, and now I’ve screwed them over.  I did too well in the interview, because I’m obviously not nearly as competent and intelligent as I made myself out to be.

I wouldn’t say I’m a liar, because I’m not.  I just used stronger language than I should have, maybe.  instead of  expressing myself as comfortable and relatively experienced with finances maybe I should have said I’m an idiot with numbers as soon as you place a dollar sign in front of them (Brian can confirm the truth in that).  instead of telling them that I would be willing to relearn Spanish, I should have commented on my inability to really recall any information or facts.

I have done them a disservice in selling myself so well to them.  and this guilt is going to eat me alive.

on how depression applies to my current job

I am finally reading posts again. it’s made not crying on my commutes more doable.

to an entry of someone whose writings I admire greatly, I commeneted as follows:

one thing my various doctors and therapists always told me was how with mental disorders, what something is now is how it seems to have always and will always be. for example, then in a manic phase, things seem great and you feel like you could take on the world — and you can take it on tomorrow too, and the next day, and the next … and even months from now, you’ve got this shit in the bed and will never have a sub-par day again. the “sick mind”, as we and it are sometimes called, struggles to separate now from forever. this is the same on the depression front too. and it all really sucks ass.

I would love to take my own advice here, but I think it’s unrelated to my work concerns. I know that eventually I will get the hang of it, and I may even eventually prove to be really badass at it. but it’s legitimately the “right now” about which I’m concerned.

I feel as if I have so few Spoons these days (see Christine Miserandio’s “The Spoon Theory”). I do’t have enough to ensure this shit day after day, and still try to function on top of that. I even told a friend last night how coming home and crying for an hour or so after work (as I have been doing) is generally helpful im the emotional sense, but it requires much more Spoons than just cutting would. sure, it allowa me well enough to move on with life lethargicly that evening. but the next moening, I am still drained and hopeless. just getting out of bed costs Spoons that I will need on the job.

and as I told Brian last night,this is a special kind of self-hatred that I have by the end of each day. this is the kind the occurs because you’ve let people down. it’s one thing, for example, when you are going to fail a class because you suck at something. but when I was teaching, the notion of letting all those students down was devestating. similarly, I am going to end up destroying this law firm’s books. they don’t deserve that; and I can’t help but feel that I deserve this employment chance.

self-mutilation and suicidal ideations  while in your 30s

so, here I am. awake. despite the begiing and pleading and bargaining with Great Powers-That-Be.

and I forgot to make my SI pack to bring to work. erg.

what 30-year-old still struggles with self-injury and personal inadaquecies quite like this?  I mean, I know SI isn’t actually something that’s restricted to a particular age group or anything, and it can some in any forms for any persons.  but really. who in their thirties is still getting fresh scars…?  by now, there’s better coping skills and the like. how am I still using a blade to deal?

and though it’s mainly becoming cutting, it’s not and rarely was restricted to just that.  hair-pulling and hitting are actually my most common; they leave minimal marks and require no additional tools.
I think that aas I’ve gotten older, as I’ve become less religious and black-and-white, I’ve come to idealize suicide even more.  while ypunger and strong in my faith, religion said suicide was wrong, and thus out was.  then I got to a point wherein I believed that it should be discouraged, but still an option.  these days, as stated in a previous post, I’m almost confused as to why I haven’t really done it yet.  time changes your perspective, yes; but in what direction?

that traffic sure looks mighty fine

why the fuck did I think I could do this?

over the weekend, in an attempt to offer me advice and encouragement, Brian commeneyed, “it’s just like school. so you know what you have to start doing again, right?”  I responded, with mostly sincerity, “cutting…?”
after laughing at the delivery and despite himself, he disagreed. “study.”

and he’s right. except there’s no homework examples to be bringing home; it all must be learnt in the lab. and the entire process is very specific to this firm. they way they have certain accounts broken up, etc.

I can tell my supervisor was very frustrated with my performance this afternoon. I royally fucked up shit. I mean, we got it sorted out. but still, I forced him to have to do twice as much work on a task he shouldn’t have been having to do any.

they want me to become a notary public. this was not mentioned in the job interview. I don’t think I can, on account of the DUIs.

I almost walked in front of a speeding car this afternoon. on purpose. is that being parasuicidal again? I mean, I obviously didn’t do it. but there was a legit jerk in my step wherein I had to remind myself that supposedly suicide is not the answering.

which is fair. because I think suicide is the question. and for me, the answer should be “yes”.
instead, I’ll go home and cut a lot. or drink. (I try not to combine them anymore.) I also intend to make an SI travel pack again — blade, bandaids, and tiny neosporin. stays in the purse. for emergencies of the self-hatred kind.