the all-consuming Darkness

I’ve been on antipsychotics for a while now. lithium, to be precise. lots of it. and it works! my anxiety is lower, my compulsions quieter, my obsessions weaker, and my hypomanias basically non-existent. so yeah, we got the Manic portion of things mostly under control.

but we haven’t figured out my Depression. it’s still all-consuming, a shroud that covers everything, even the things I once loved or enjoyed.

things are not fun anymore, for example. and I don’t even want to try to have fun anymore; it’s exhausting.

I had a lot of free time this past Saturday. so what did I do?– sleep. for ~15hrs. sure, I know part of it was actually needing the sleep for physical reasons. but I know the difference between that and sleep as escapism. and most of that was the latter.

and though it may be psychosomatic and even self-fulfilling, I firmly believe that I will never get better until I GTFO of this fucking tundra.

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“when you sleep, / you can’t feel the hunger.”

Days Sober:  3.25
Days Till Rehab is Done:  17

 

I can’t tell if thing are getting worse or better.  I mean, I’m consuming less caffeine, less alcohol, less self-medicated pills, etc.  hell, I was even social yesterday (by request of Brian).

but as soon as I got back from said social event, I cried myself to a three-hour nap.  moreover, I’ve got more interest in the Plan, stronger desires to never again wake up, more interest in sleeping all the time, and less interest in ever seeing anyone ever again.

a few weeks back, when I was less suicidal, I made plans to  some random day, hang out with two of my three besties and Brian (the four of us used to be a proper Group).  it was supposed to be fun and enjoyable.  not too long ago, it was decided said plan would be go to Olive Garden shortly after noon on Dec 28th.  so that’s what happened.

I wanted to “call in sick”.  at first, Brian requested I didn’t.  “I think it’ll be good for you.”  “don’t you want to see D and K?”  “I know you love Oliver Garden’s food.”

and then the fucking waterworks started.  a relevant Sidenote on that (which I will hopefully go into detail later):  I have three modes — Off, Pissed, or Distraught.  and unless I focus on staying on Off, I switch to Pissed and Distraught with little-to-no triggers or warnings.

so yeah, just the thought of seeing people again (I had just come from a new-to-me and pretty packed Meeting, wherein it was actually standing-room-only) was causing me to freak out.  also, I didn’t want anyone to see me in the current disheveled state.  I mean, I could come up with a trillion reasons why I didn’t want to go.  and eventually, Brian seemingly-reluctantly agreed to tell them I simply wasn’t feeling well.

but honestly, I didn’t want to cancel on those two, because I actually like and care about them.  moreover, maybe going to this thing with three of the people about whom I care the most in the world would either A] get me out of my funk or B] get Brian, Mum, and the blokes at rehab to understand that I JUST WANT PEOPLE TO LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE.

 

that’s my plan, yeah.  if I’m not at work or Group or a Meeting, and I don’t want to fucking exist, I’m going the fuck to sleep.  if I feel like exercising, or playing a game, or reading, or watching something, or talking to someone, I might.  but honestly, I’m going to need to buy some more Melatonin.  because I am sooooo over this being alive bullshit.

“Caligula would have blushed”

I’m [broken].  Do you get that on any level?  You want me to be normal, and I’m never going to be.

~ Emma, Red Band Society

 

I’m tired, man.  I’m getting really exhausted.  how hard does a person how to fight to live, to wake up?

I was getting dressed this morning.  I put on my bra.  and then I started to put on my pants.  I remembered that with these pants, I actually had to wear underwear (I often go commando) due to comfort reasons; I realised this after the pants were already halfway on.  so that meant I had to undo what I just did, put on underwear, then redo it all over again.

I didn’t have that in me.  I took the pants off and hid under the covers in bed.  I stayed there a good seven or so minutes, because even the prospect of fucking getting dressed was too much for me to handle.

but eventually, I managed.  I got out of bed; I put on clothes; I went to the doctor’s; I went to work; I’m (kinda) doing my job.  and then tonight, I’ll go home; I’ll go to rehab; I’ll play nice; I’ll go home; I’ll pretend to be alive inside; and I’ll cry myself to sleep, again.

I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour;
but heaven knows I’m miserable now.
two lovers entwined, pass me by;
and heaven knows I’m miserable now.
I was looking for a job, and then I found a job;
and heaven knows I’m miserable now.

while merely brushing my teeth last night, while lying in bed afterwards, even when I awoke this morning — I was pondering what tactics would work.  I’d throw pills up; I don’t own a gun; I’d paralyze myself before snapping my neck; I shake too much to cut a straight line.

I suppose carbon monoxide is a maybe; sneak out in the middle of night when no one is paying attention to a running car.  also jumping; that would actually be pleasant; but messy for whoever has to deal with it.

what she asked of me at the end of the day,
Caligula would have blushed.
“you’ve been the House too long”, she said;
and I naturally fled.

a student told me about a childhood friend of his who killed himself Monday.  then he told me how his own father was anti-suicide, calling those who kill themselves cowards.

I got up on my high horse and informed the student that sometimes people suffer so much that finally taking control of their own life is one of the strongest and bravest things they could ever do.  I believe that.  I strongly believe that.

why do I have to be alive for you?  you just want what’s best for me, right?  you want me to stop hurting, to be happy?  this is not happiness; this is pain, this is sorrow, this is longing, and this is regret.  this is despair, hopeless, and self-hatred.  happiness would be ceasing to exist; that would be freedom.

but instead, you not only ask me to stay alive for you, but to also live as you’d like me to, do as you want me to.

so you don’t really want me alive; you just want my life.

in my life,
why do I smile
at people who I’d much rather kick in the eye?

I’m not doing it anytime soon; don’t worry.  the holidays are a horrible time to do this, as it is selfish; it ruins the holiday season for the families.  but I do think I’ll start making my plan.  I seek out proper tools or methods; I’ll find a good location, a good approach.  that way, after all this holiday bullshit is over, after I’ve stayed alive long enough for everyone else, I can make a decision for myself.

in the meantime, I’ll play nice.

after the interactions I’ve had with my counselor this week (I need to write about that later), I’m ready to quit.  I’ll keep aiming for sobriety, sure.  but not because I want it; rather, I’m in the mindset that I need it.

I need it to keep people off my back.
I need it to have people believe I’m getting better.

lyrics courtesy of The Smiths's "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now"

“Don’t Deconstruct”

I don’t know.  I don’t know what to do.  I’m so tired.  this is all so exhausting.  I don’t feel like I’m getting any better; I just feel like I’ve been stripped of one of my coping mechanisms.

I took a hydrocodone Friday night just to calm my mind.  I took stuff tonight too — some old anti-depressants (that won’t actually do anything with just one dose, but hey, I like my placebo effects).  I just need to stop thinking, to stop feeling … even if only for a few hours.

I don’t really feel happiness or joy or peace, like everyone in Group talks about.  they talk about getting a sense of balance and calmness.  fuck that.  my emotions these last few weeks run on only three scales:  anger, apathy, and depression.

something is changing inside of me;
colors seem darker in light.
and I don’t know what that means,
but it’s not a good sign.
you can just add them up, then you could memorize prehistoric bones
all of those old memories, you can push them out and prep yourself for brand
new Information.

I’m so angry all the time.  pissed at everyone, and everything.  and every additional day without alcohol only makes it worse.  not the lack of actual liquor, but the fact that I can’t have it.  that yet again, someone else is in Control of my life.  I get angry at not being able to have my evenings to myself.  I start my day for work around 6am, and I don’t have free time until 9m when I get home — at which point I have to take my first sleep medication.  what. the righteous. fuck.  and now rehab is telling me I have to go to outside AA meetings on both Saturday and Sunday.  WHEN THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO HAVE ME TIME?  additionally so, when the fuck am I supposed to grade the essays for my second job?!?!  I mean, seriously — what the hell?

and then this whole interlock bullshit.  I get so angry everytime I have to start my car.  I have fucking asthma.  I can hardly breathe like a normal person as is, and now I’m expected to breathe into and out of a machine at a certain strength for nigh 30 seconds.  I had trouble with my C-PAP which helps me breathe; this makes it more difficult.  fuck this shit.

don’t deconstruct,
and then fill me in;
I’m not
that basic, I swear.
I’ve had enough
of breakdowns and diagrams.

eventually, I get so fucking angry, that to keep from breaking things (or myself), I have to stop caring; I just become apathetic.  I just stop giving a fuck about anything.  because caring pisses me off; so we just won’t care about anything.

“where do you wanna eat, James?”
“I don’t give a fuck.  I don’t even fucking care if I ever eat again.”  “I don’t care if I ever watch a movie again.”  “I think I may just take some sleeping pills; fuck the rest of the day.”

just thinking about making a decision starts to make me tired.  so I resort to complete apathy.  I just stop fucking caring.

judging from picture books, apparently heaven is a partly
cloudy place.
and if the sky opened up, and they let you in and gave you
a formal invitation,
would you go?

from which point, I get depressed.  the idea that I will never again be truly Happy or at Peace.  I fight off tears (I still never did really cry about the whole DUI thing), I feign apathy to Brian and those around me, so as not to let on just how bad it really is.

I mean, just the notion that I will cycle between those two phases of anger and apathy forever only adds a third one: depression.  I hopeless.  completely, utterly hopeless — a state of lacking any and all Hope.  it’s getting really bad.

you can work from Home.

the last item on the questionnaire we have to fill out for rehab Group is about suicidal idealizations, thoughts, plans, or attempts.  I answer everytime “just the usual thoughts and desires; no plans or attempts”.  today, it was “heightened thoughts and desires”.

I’m tired of being only angry, apathetic, or depressed.  it’s exhausting.  and it sure as hell isn’t worth it.