Off myself in Vulnerability

(this entry is a bit dark FYI)

Today the mental health was beyond shocking. Easily the hardest day of 2021 for me so far. For some reason, my brain decided to want to tell me I was worthless, and that life wasn’t worth living anymore. I only wish I was being dramatic.

It was spurred on mostly by yet another message, this time from my store manager, asking if I could come in to help out with plannograms. I’d only had one fucking day off (yesterday) and even then the damn new online manager had sent me a message. I didn’t even look at that one. Fuck that for a joke. Not even my department AND on my first day off after a fucker of a week. I don’t think so. So to get this other one, which I also ignored, set me off on a spiral downward. And boy was it downward.

I left the apartment a few times. At first I didn’t have bread so went to get some supplies, hoping that might cheer me up. It didn’t do much. I also had napped yesterday which I KNOW didn’t help my mental health situation because it meant I awoke around 10pm and was then up half the night doing fuck all. I’d contemplated going to the gym, but then didn’t - just incase there was the chance that a junked-up meth-head happened to cross paths with me on my midnight-run there. I mean, I’ve done it many times before over the years - going to the gym at weird hours of the morning/night and I’ve been fine, but I feel that I’ve encountered one-too-many fuckwits over these past few weeks that it’s really made me twice-shy. And I’m already fucking shy.

I knew things were bad when I was at the shops the first time this morning, and a maskless guy coughed right near me. I found myself very close to absolutely screaming at him. Masks still mandatory indoors here, but I had to remind myself that coughing to clear one’s throat in public was a perfectly acceptable thing to do this time two years ago. This pandemic has made a monster out of me and I was thinking this guy was a complete fuckwit just for coughing. But I was depressed and lashing out. It was almost like when I did lash out at the dentist last week for their lack of competence.

I went for a walk in the afternoon all the way to Hamilton. It’s a nice walk along the river and it was cloudy and quite windy, but still nice. Not that my depression let me think so one bit. I was miserable. I sat down at a park bench and looked at my phone. Pictures of hot guys I follow on Instagram sure didn’t help. I thought about deleting it, deleting Facebook. I don’t post anything other than memes anyway because I sure as hell aren’t interesting in the slightest. I was in tears at the park bench. I wished the skies would open so that the rain could hide my emotions from passers-by. Looking downward and averting eye-contact would have to do.
I messaged Brande, cancelling on our Thai dinner plans tonight. There was no way I could let him see me like this. I messaged him, “I am not good at all today :(” through tears.
He asked what was wrong. I usually stay silent, but I didn’t. I told him, “I’m just severely depressed.” I think he knows in a way. I feel he might get like this sometimes too. I think it’s why he checks in at the hospital and I never find out why.
At least he does that. I sat at the park bench Googling, “What are some actual reasons to keep living?” and browsed numerous lists. Lifeline was the first result at the top of the page. Bravo.
Not that I’d call Lifeline because I HATE talking on the phone. If I could disable the call function on a phone, I would.
I finally replied to my store manager, after being angry at the message and ignoring it all day. I just said, “I’m sorry, today was not a good day.” He asked if I was alright and I said, “Not really, but I’ll get there.” Maybe that will curb off another message tomorrow and make them leave me the fuck alone for once.
Of course none of the lists made me feel any better, nor gave me any hope. The usual, “Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.” A few blog posts from people who had beaten the demon(s).

Yeah well, suicide certainly feels like the only viable/sensible option. The problem is, I wouldn’t know HOW to do it. I don’t have the BALLS to do it. My brain just reminds me how pathetic I am that I can’t even do that and end it all. So in effectiveness, it saves me. I certainly can’t stab myself or slice my wrists or jump off a tall structure. I was looking at the wind causing waves on the river and thinking how fun it would be if I had my boogie board. Of course, swimming in the river which is full of bull-sharks could also be a non-fun way to go. But none of those ways are fun ways to go. Why can’t there BE a fun way to go? Maybe that’s why suicide is never an option for me. The thought of it involves blood, or pain, and there’s no access to guns in my country.
I wouldn’t even know how to use a gun. Too violent. Who’d want to come across that?
Have to clean up my bloody body from the side of a picturesque river. I live on the 18th floor of a high-rise - I could just jump over. That’d be that. Bye-bye Matt. But no, the idea of pain, of it not working. Of regretting it.
Maybe asphyxiation? That might be a good way to go. Now I’d just have to find a guy to do that for me, whilst avoiding a murder charge. It’d have to me whilst masturbating so it’d still be suicide. How would I go about that? LOL. Clearly I’m not going to be killing myself anytime soon. If a gunman came into my store, would I panic? Yeah, for sure, because that’s me. A scaredy cat. A wuss. All the things my brain tells me I am. I’ll never own my own place, I’ll certainly never have a lover (who could love this mess?? I mean, seriously?), I’ll always be gay, so I’ll never have kids (as if I’d want to pass on my genes - yikes.)

I started walking again and followed the advice in the self-help book I read a while ago - treated the depression as a companion and I told it in my mind, “Man, you really are a bitch, aren’t ya?” It was almost like it giggled back at me, but as usual, I was creating a stupid scenario in my head. But if I’m treating depression as a companion that means I need to create it’s character.
It kind of helped though, as I knew it would. Us putting-up with each others company until “it” got bored and left me alone. But it was definitely lingering today.

I’d brought my gym bag, with the intention of going to my gym chain there. I eventually did, but once there I recalled that they don’t have lockable lockers, so I was self-conscious of someone stealing my bag the entire time. Such a shame because it’s a nice big gym otherwise. The seat I was sat on had come loose also. ‘More lack of giving a shit by a company’, I told myself. I did two exercises and left. I half-considered catching the ferry along the river back to the city gym, as at least I could lock up my bag there. But I walked all the way back. I was feeling down by then, but not a fucking mess like I had been shortly prior.

Life’s just FUCKING HARD, man. I don’t know how everyone else does it, to be honest. Everyone seems to be in high-paying jobs, have found their significant others, have life figured-out, y’know. I’m trying to… I don’t even know what I’m trying to. If I have to go through another 40/50 or so years of this, my God, I’ll be in the looney-bin for sure.
I then wondered why I bothered getting angry earlier at the maskless guy coughing. Just give me Covid. Maybe I’ll be one of the upcoming death cases. Our borders open in 5 days. Covid will run rife. Maybe I’ll get lucky and I won’t have to deal with another depression day ever again. Cos they are fucked. Royally fucked.
I found myself thinking that I’m just meant to be a slutty gay guy, as it’s a hell of a lot easier, and certainly more fun, then actually letting someone in on the complete mess that is me sometimes. Why don’t I just BE what I know is me? I don’t GET lonely, I hate commitment, and each time I have been slutty, it’s suited me. Hell, I MET Harris out of it, for God’s sake. Even though he doesn’t talk to me anymore, that was a surprise I didn’t expect that made me happy for a while. Maybe my path to a husband IS to fuck my way around?
(Hit me up for more dating advice) :P

And yet I know from past experience that tomorrow, or even the day after that, that I’ll feel good again. I’ll wonder why I was feeling so down - so dangerous. And I’ll put it aside and feel stupid about myself. I run through the scenarios in my head (like I do with abso-fucking-lutely everything) of me at the doctor, telling them “I don’t always feel like this, but when I do - ooo boy is it dark gurrrl, or what!?” - And do I tell a stranger doctor this rather than my regular one? I feel like my regular one wouldn’t be the right doctor to tell. I know that sounds weird but I just feel that way. I don’t even think he knows I’m gay. And then I worry about anti-depressants and their side effects and how Reddit forums say that I don’t have to stay on the one type of drugs if the side effects aren’t suited to me (which is actually a bit comforting) but then of course I worry about the addiction-factor. And we alllll know how much fun I have with trying to swallow pills (I find it near impossible and have to imagine I’m swallowing a hot guy’s cum (thanks Kurt) to get them down - I wish I was joking - it’s been the only thing that works, even for Panadol). So I don’t think the being gay thing is going away anytime soon.

Anyway, as this is my only real outlet at this stage, it’s all going here. I do actually feel a bit better right now. I’m not crying at a park bench. I’m keen on watching the final ever episode of Wentworth tomorrow, so no spoilers! See, if I’d killed myself today, I’d never know how it ends! Oh and the US F1 race was exciting.

I’m aware I’m weird. How do I find someone equally as weird to date me? :P

Last updated October 26, 2021