This is not a threat, nor a warning, nor anything else. (I will reiterate it at the end of the post.) That said, and sure to be ignored anyway, here it is.
There are two puddles of cat puke in my house, one on the stairway (perfectly arranged to be hit in the middle of the night), the other in the upstairs bathroom.
In the last four weeks I’ve tossed about six hundred bucks into these sweet little critters. And there is no guarantee they’re going to be well. And they’re young. Ten or fifteen years or so left to them…
Every idiot at work put on the Extra Idiot™ Né Plus Ultra helmet and went way, way mega idiot.
So, slogging past the barf and thinking about life in general, I thought, you know, I have the damn Bersa. This is a .45. It’s loaded with hollowpoints. Viscoelastic Shock ‘R’ Us.
When you think about it, I think it’s normal. I think we all occasionally think, you know what, fuck this.
The ones who are crying for help slit their wrists, or take pills, then call 911. Well, I’m not doing that. I’m not standing on a ledge either, begging for the world to shine its spotlights on me.
It’s just been a tiring couple of weeks, is all. I hate this time of year anyway.
I know this is mostly my own neural misfiring, my recurrent dysthymia. It’s not like I’m gonna shoot myself.
I won’t. Life is, overall, pretty good. I’ve had some good days and good nights. Plus, I’ve had to clean up the aftermath of a brains-shot suicide. In a word: Blecch. In two words: Jelly ewwwwwwwwww.
No, it’s a tired kind of thing. A back shelf kind of thing. If I get overwhelmed to the point that bla bla bla kind of thing. I have a pretty good idea how I’d react, for instance, to a diagnosis of Alzheimer’s.
Not even sure why I’m posting this, really, except I think this has always been a fairly honest, straightforward blog, emotions and all. And, if the TSA keeps going as it has been lately, we’ll all be naked to each other anyway.
I know what I’m in. I know what clinical depression is. And I know it will pass. I’ve been here since I was fifteen or so. Still alive. Intend to continue to be so.
Some days, in my darkest days, the certain knowledge of the .45 is enough to keep me going. Because I know how easy it would be to just stop. Well, easy has never been my personal favorite track. I am a professional asshole.
This is not a threat, nor a warning, nor anything else. I’m just really goddamned tired right now. It’s been a shitty week, but it’s not been a bad life, and I look forward to seeing the sun rise on my selfish little face again.
EDIT: Welcome, 2010. And, in advance, well, fuck you too.
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by thetirdchimpanzee
11 Jan 2010 at 00:56
I get the same way…a lot…especially when I don;t take my SSRI’s like I’m supposed to.
I get tired of life…tired of the anxiety…tired of being alone…tired of the OCD — *damn tired of the OCD* (and, because of it, living in a house that feels “contaminated” to me even when it’s spotlessly clean)…tied of not being able to have a normal life — or even date.
Tired of my body falling apart.
If it wasn’t for my kids…and that’s about it.
(That — and *NOT* wanting to be buried in fucking *Illinois* — which I *know* my family would do to me, ignoring my wishes.)
But I figure — if it’s *THAT* bad…so bad I’d be willing to *end* it…to do something THAT drastic…then why not try making a radical change to me life first.
I figure it (changing) can’t make things *worse* — and might make them better — and, hell, what have I got to lose?
I mean, it’s not like things are going so well I’m worried about messing them up, lol.
Seriously — I figure if I feel like ending it all…why not try something just as radical first — but that involves *living*.
So *THAT’S* why I’ve put my house of for sell and taking Alex and getting the HELL out of Illinois the first possible opportunity and going back to Arizona (hopefully in March — but by May at the *latest* — and I MEAN THAT…*May* — NO LONGER)…
So…maybe you could try and think of something you could do that you have always wanted to — and would make you happy — but you’ve always said “Naw…that’s [INSERT EXCUSE HERE].”
Because seriously — what have you got to lose?
If you are willing to consider something as radical as *suicide* (and I know, *I* have too — many times) — why not do something radical to change your life?
(And yes, I *KNOW* — that’s MUCH easier said than done.)
by thetirdchimpanzee
11 Jan 2010 at 01:04
Oh, and I know you don’t like psych meds (at least, you used to be opposed to taking them)…but maybe reconsider that.
Again — what have you got to lose?
It’s not like they are going to *kill* you — and if they do…well…if you were wanting to wind up dead anyway…
Honestly Warren…I know how you feel…my OCD makes my life a living nightmare…and being a lonely loser when it comes to relationships doesn’t exactly make me look forward to a long — lonely — life.
Mostly — I don’t really want to *die* — I’m just…like you said…*tired*…
I wish I could just go into cryo-sleep for 100 years and see if the future is any better. Sleep…and not wake up for a long time — I wouldn’t be dead — but I wouldn’t have to endure waking life either.
by Warren
11 Jan 2010 at 23:38
Still around. Thanks for the suggestions. I’m actually going to see if I can’t get sucked into the psychochemical thing, since I’ve exhausted all other possibilities, and as you say, what have I really got to lose. I’ve been thinking on this for a while. More later.
Hugs n such, in a manly way.
by thetirdchimpanzee
12 Jan 2010 at 03:27
Just know that if you shoot yourself…I will *so* fucking KILL you!
by Warren
14 Jan 2010 at 21:35
No worries. As I said in the post, it wasn’t a warning or a suggestion, certainly not a plan.
But, as you said in your lengthy and quite honest (thank you) comments, I do get a bit tired from time to time.
What bothers me is the way I can feel it start to happen. I can feel the drag, and I know what’s coming; and then I have a bounce into normalcy, but what I really hate most is the up-buzz, when I’m amplified past normal and feel like I can take on the world, or at least that things are, basically, okay.
That’s a level of optimism I used to maintain pretty easily. Lately, though, the downs are deeper and the highs are less modulated. I’ve been hanging onto it tightly by my fingernails for several weeks now, and I’m just barely keeping it all even.
It never used to be like this. Something is wrong.
Not with my life. That’s going okay. Nor at work; ditto. No, this is the wiring in my head going weird, and lately it’s entered a new phase of wild swings that are beyond my capacity to handle with mild psychoactives such as St. John’s Wort or meditation (both of which seem to help, mildly), or even sonic brainwave entrainment.
Again, something is wrong, and I really don’t have a choice now but to look into serious pharmaceuticals to rectify it. So we’ll see how it goes.
Thanks, as always, for your steadfast friendship. And here’s to you getting out of ILLinNOYANCe soonish, ideally with skin, heart and family in as much tact as possible.