So I have done some delivering this week, after spending a month depressed and not wanting to do anything. And that was stupid, by the way. I had a decent amount of money in reserve and if I had just started driving, I’d have been able to save some more money up and I’d have been better off. This is a longstanding pattern and it worries me. Or I should say, there is one part of me that stands around worried at my general behavior and another part of me that just wants to die, but hasn’t got the guts to follow through with it, so behaves self-destructively instead because no one gives a shit what happens to me anyway. I actually verbalized to myself yesterday, for the first time ever, that if I could guarantee I would die immediately and in zero pain, I’d just do it. Go crash my car into something at high speed, maybe. If I could guarantee I’d die instantly. And I can’t guarantee that, so I’m scared to try. I have no problem with the idea of being dead. It will not matter to anyone. What I have a problem with is the idea of suffering. Being profoundly disabled with no one batting for me AND being aware of my disability and my situation would be horrible.
Even if I bought a gun I could not guarantee it would be an instant death. Plus, that would make a lot of noise and upset people because OMG Someone Has A Gun but my actual departure from a state of living would not be worthy of note. But hey, I upset people by just existing so why would I want to increase that? I’m already in the doghouse. Nah. So that’s not an option.
Though I’m tempted to acquire one at some point and just hang on to it until something happens and I know I won’t get better. Because at that point maybe I could at least inflict a serious enough head injury that I wouldn’t know I was being medically neglected and whatever else. If, y’know, I did not actually wind up dead.
ANYWAY. Thought process. Such as it is.
But there are lots of reasons I’m miserable: some of which I can’t control, like the situation with my daughter, and others of which I can control a little bit, like my living situation. Maybe if I improve the living situation, I’ll feel better about the stuff I can’t control. I don’t know, but as I haven’t tried it enough yet, I probably should attempt to find out. It’s no fun being miserable even if other people do think I enjoy it. They also think men can be women, so consider the source. I need to find reasons that being alive is okay. That’s probably the other big reason I haven’t sincerely tried to not be alive anymore. I’m not ready. Some parts of life are still good. I still enjoy things sometimes.
So! I’ve tentatively begun applying for jobs again. The idea is to find something where I’m least likely to screw up and get fired. Fear of that was a big reason I left Quantum. I was tired of feeling like I was being set up for failure. I want something relatively simple where I can look at my work and objectively say I did it right without needing a QA division to gaslight me. I have applied to be what amounts to a hospital janitor, and we’ll see if I hear back. I will probably apply at a grocery store or two in the same general geographical area, just to see what happens.
I doubt I will still be in this apartment past November. It may be they’ll let me renew the lease, but I doubt it. If that’s how things fall out, I want to move back to Clintonville.
I don’t know why, but I like Dublin. It’ll be weird leaving; Dublin has more or less supported my remaining alive for most of the past two years. But I also like Clintonville, I miss Clintonville, and the particular place I want to look at first as a possible candidate for an apartment is below $700 a month. There are a couple other places in the same general area that still fall under $900 a month. We’ll see, but hopefully the under-$700 place will have an opening and the deposit won’t be insane.
Meanwhile, I need to do more things that make me feel better too. I have some cleaning to catch up with in this place because it sat idle for six months before I moved in and the previous occupant hadn’t made much of an effort. I keep meaning to start drawing again and I keep choking. I want to make a bunch of stretch bracelets out of my bead collection and finally get that moving out of my space. (This is THE time of year to be trying to move handmade stuff. Please please let me not wait until fucking February.) I should work on my photo collection some more, even though that gets painful — right now the complete lack of order on my hard drive is one of the things sapping my energy. And so on.
You wouldn’t believe how long it took me to write this stupid post.
Oh, and, let’s see. Had that conversation with Elizabeth on the 9th? Still no email about the electric bill. Raise your hand if you’re surprised. [sits on hands]
I should probably also add a postscript about Kay, Matt’s mother. No word there. I wouldn’t have gotten mail, but no contact on Facebook either. So that’s not a thing that’s going to happen. I wonder if any of these assholes know what it’s like to be hated for no reason. I wonder if they would care.