just.... worse

I'm only writing now because of a generalized sense of guilt over not writing for two days.

I'm not feeling well, if anything it's worse now than it was. I am now given three choices: To talk about it and sink deeper, to try to avoid talking about it and type on, and finally to not say a thing more. However a four line post does not really constitute therapy.

I'm suicidal, entering the phase where my brain tries to come up with an idea for how to kill myself. I have a plan for fighting this, broken into stages:
Stage one: Get more serious about taking my meds, avoid sedatives, start drinking coffee tomorrow.
Stage two: Passing the time period in which my meds should kick in, I begin smoking again.
Stage three: check myself into a hospital.

I have already alerted my family of the urgency of the present situation, and of this plan. I've given them plenty of time to try and solve it, in their way. Of course the problem is that all of my solutions are chemical..... But that is what it is.

I really try to remain peaceful after dark, as midnight approaches I must return to the things that bring me a measure of peace:

The complete void that is the universe. It seems counter intuitive, but the most calming thing I find is to think about how little anything means. Stating things as less than statements. One being less than two. The most peaceful is less than zero, less than nothing at all. Focus on the darkness that surrounds me.

Occasionally I do seem to like thinking about horror stories. It amuses me that I once feared these things, I have no idea why they comfort me now. I suppose it is somewhat uplifting to think of how it could be worse.

the new push

I met a new doctor yesterday, the kind that listens not the kind with pills. Anyway, the net result of our conversation is that I have been asked to write daily as treatment for my illness. I was more enthusiastic at the time I agreed to this, he's a good listener and talker.

Today wasn't particularly.... I don't want to talk about it, but I will anyway.

Had someone knock on my door and offer to mow the lawn.... A little background, my lawn has been overgrown for about a week.. or two. I don't pay TONS of attention to it. It really doesn't matter apart from strangers wandering in and telling me to mow it. Eventually someone complains to the city, or mows it while I'm not looking (which is nearly all the time), but what the heck? Anyway this is somewhere around the 10th time someone has offered to mow it (offer being a subjective word for somewhere between guilt trip and asking for money). It's been hot, for one, two I have been forced to do something almost every day this week. I don't get that for free, I have to push out every one of these.

So I set out to mow the lawn. Somewhere around a third of the way through it  I was borderline suicidal/homicidal about the whole thing. It used to not be a big deal. I can understand how to anyone else this seems like "no big deal". I wish it was just laziness, that I was understating how horrible I feel every time I push myself for someone else's mission.

It second only to how bad I feel actually saying anything about it. I would much rather allow it to pass, or slowly fester into part of my general distaste for humanity.

I will say  that part of the mistake was queuing up my "worship/god focus" playlist. I have been avoiding blaming God for this whole situation. I don't know who or what IS to blame... I suppose no one has to be, it would be nice if someone other than me felt like stepping up. My point is that I have been blaming myself. If I have the qualities that others have ascribed to me: intelligent, self aware, etc. then I have no-one but myself to blame for the mess I'm in. I have every right to try to kill the person wrecking my life, that person being me.

Yet I must come back to a separate point: I prayed specifically about the future, I believed in that future because of faith. I could say faith led me here. I could say that and it would be it's own kind of true.

See I don't worship faith. At the moment, in the location of desolation I am I consider myself free from the compulsion of worship. It still occurs to me that God could.... allow my general suffering and failure to lessen or even stop. He could put people in my life that lead me out of the desert. Proverbial desert, I have water at my beck and call. He has not, for his own reasons he doesn't want my suffering to stop at the moment. Which should make me distant from God. Yet that is not so. I am as close to dead as the world will allow me to be. I'm trying to get there, not very fast mind you. the balance of odds is that I will someday die, and given my 6 year track record it's more likely than not that I'll be happy to greet death when it gets here. God has nothing to do with it. Sometimes people die, and often enough it's because of lingering disease. Depression (or bipolar) is an illness... that tends to kill those with it. Some get there faster than others. I could write another couple pages on my envy of the dead and dying. However the point is made: misery.

*shrug*That's life. It sucks until it doesn't. I can't get too attached to anything, it's as likely as not to be gone tomorrow. I just move on, adapt, try to make the best of what I've got. For now I'm going to finish my game for the day, go start reading Children of the Mind for the first time (or perhaps some Lovecraft), then pass out.

Grocery shopping comes early.