Not About Dying in Every day scata

I have nothing in me today. I’m just doing things by rote. Cook breakfast, fill pill reminders, do the laundry.

It’s the same thing day after day.

Yes, I know. It’s part of being a responsible adult, holding down a job.

I’ve been doing this for 3 years (or is it 4?) and I haven’t gotten a bonus, a raise, or even a fucking thank you from the brothers. Pam thanks me. She apologizes to me when I have a mess to clean up. She acknowledges me.

I just don’t have the will to live anymore. I don’t see the point. Honestly, there is no point in me being here. Everyone would be fine without me. Pam would be happy, The brothers would stick mom in the nursing home so they wouldn’t have to worry about that.

But I still can’t help thinking about how happy Pam would be without me around.

I have no friends. I mean not one person to go to Pam and say “hey, Di is having problems. She needs you”

She already yelled at me today. I have a tendency to walk very quiet. I get it from my dad, and from sneaking into patient rooms to do rounds. I’ve learned to be almost silent.

I’m trying to sell my mandalas. A friend of mine came up with a wonderful idea to do stained glass work. I’m going to give it a go. I’ll start with cheap wine glasses, then move on to the old window down in the barn. It would be perfect for it.

That being said, I better color a little bit, maybe it will take my mind off of swallowing a bunch of pills and slitting my wrists.