Worthless

 I am a stupid, naive, and apparently worthless individual. I don't know why I stick around. Every night when I wake up, I am in pain. The first thing I think about is killing myself. This goes on for the first hour or so of blissful wakefulness. What is the point of going through the same old routine day after day if there is no change, if at some point every day I am made to feel worthless. These feelings are reinforced from several angles. "Thank you for helping us today." But the unspoken message is that "we don't give a fuck why you're here. But we're going to use you until we burn you out."

My wife and I are on the same page when it comes to the world being against us. I am not actively trying to persuade her of such; she has her own life experiences to back up her convictions. For me, this is good news because all we have to do, really, is to get a couple guns and off ourselves. I think this would be a glorious, but, in some small circles, awful, end to 2021. I'd rather end it sooner than later. I'm pretty much done. I have nothing that I aspire to do as far as great musical (what a laugh) achievements. My stain on the pimple on the ass of history is waning. While I am a great source of information and technical and clinical expertise at work which my coworkers frequently avail themselves of,...I am a threat to management and they keep me at more than arm's length. Fuck em. Fuck em all. I pray they suffer great unrelenting cancers, all of them. Even the management at Kaiser is already lying to my face. What? Was I born yesterday? I can tell when you're lying to me. Everyone, be on notice; don't fuck with me. I can tell. 

The smartest people I know are my parents. And my brother. We are all cut from the same cloth. Other members of my family as well. Smart mother fuckers. That is a benefit, if you can figure out how to exploit that without sliding down the hole. But it is a tremendous detriment because most of the world is not on the same level, struggles to understand where I'm coming from. This has been my life. I know, in a sense, what my parents go through, too. Not just dealing with people, sometimes even playing with people (like a predator with prey,) but having to rely on people with far less intellect and understanding of the so-called big picture. Let alone reading my drivel in this blog. I don't mean to freak my parents out. Really, I don't. I know they're smart enough to realize that I am using this space to vent my shit so I don't actually go and do something terrible. At least I hope they do.

What Not To Say

These days, there's nobody who I feel comfortable discussing the inevitable with. I realize that by discussing with Premmanee that I don't plan to be around this time next year, I may have inadvertently hurt her. I didn't mean to. Now she tosses it out there from time to time that I need to be sure that I take care of certain things before I'm dead. I think she's come to accept that I plan to kill myself around this time next year. Once in a while she asks me to take it back. But I can't. I have no reason to stick around anymore. I've done everything I want to do. I've faced my limitations. Overcome some, accepted others. Probably not a good idea to discuss suicide with loved ones. All it takes is a phone call and I could be committed for at least 72 hours on a 5150 hold. And then it would be up to the medical staff to detain me or release me. I have too big of a mouth, so I'd be staying indefinitely. Unfortunately, the financial consequences of that would pretty much mean that we'd have to sell the house and my wife would be out on the street, as I'd be permanently out of work. At least my way, Premmanee is taken care of financially for a time.

I've also come to realize that the anti-suicidal climate that I live in has some harmful caveats. Anyone who discusses suicide is automatically considered as someone who needs to be put in a hospital, regardless of how sane or rational they may be. Simply discussing it in the open leads to people feeling obligated, pressured, forced into sticking their noses into my personal business. This takes freedom of choice right out of their hands and mine, and in most cases prolongs and exacerbates the pain and suffering. This kind of climate also makes it impossible to discuss these things with a doctor. As soon as the words leave my lips, shoomp, I'm whisked away.  I know that if I was taken into that kind of protective custody, I'd be looking for my earliest opportunity to end it. Like a rat in a cage. I was taking Celexa several years ago. It was supposed to stabilize my emotions. But what it really did was flatten my emotional experience. It made life less exciting. No more extremes at either end of the emotional spectrum. So I stopped taking it; told them I was feeling better now. So it's better to keep these things to myself. Don't seek help. Don't say anything. Don't threaten. When the time comes, just do it. And do it right the first time.

What not to say is that I feel suicide is nothing more and nothing less than ending a miserable life. And that its OK to go through with it. What not to say is that I sympathize with those who have been successful at it and understand that most of them had good reasons for ending their lives. What not to say is the truth when dealing with doctors anymore. Also better not to tell your wife as it is hurtful and wrong. It is wiser to simply go through with it if that's what you want to do.

I Shouldn't Be Here

 Part of me feels guilty as hell that I stuck around too long. Way past my time. I shouldn't be here. I don't belong here. Nearly every day brings reminders that almost everyone around me would be so much better off if I were gone. It has become more evident that they secretly wish it. I am a shadow. A bother. Worse. The other part of me is slightly reassured knowing that I don't have to wait much longer. After March, 2022, I will be past the obligatory two year minimum for life insurance to be effective upon suicide. After then, I will at least feel comfortable that my wife will be fine after I'm gone. She already knows and hates it when I bring it up. But I think she's relieved, too, that I'm not just ending it and leaving nothing behind to take care of her. That was the whole point of signing up; so she would have a safety net. So there's some comfort there, anyway. It's not that I hate myself so much. It's that I am so aggressively hated by others. So deliberately blown off as some piece of shit. Nearly every day I get this. Mostly at work. But occasionally at home, too. One can only take in so much hurt before losing it. I cannot vent to a therapist because I'll be locked up. I cannot vent so much to my wife because she prefers I shut up and hold it in. Ironically, I have no one I want to talk to as I have already made up my mind. I look forward to the endless silence, and things going dark. I'm so tired of being. I've been here way too long.

Going Through The Motions

Almost a year has passed now. I find myself haunted. I sometimes hear and feel the presence of Style and Finesse. A pillow seen out of the corner of my eye. A stray noise. It brings me back to happier times. But only for a moment. I have a few things in life that make me happy these days. My wife, Pam, is one. We have some ups and downs. But she has helped to center me these past 10+ years. Another is that I have been speaking to my father a few times a week. Just about little stuff, really. But it helps to have a family connection. While I still find myself pushed to beyond arm's length by my mother and brother, I maintain some contact. This also brings me back to center. As far as work goes, I find I am more often going through the motions. I can see that if I survive to retirement, that it will be in about ten years if I can hold on. As such, I have become more and less particular about the work I do. I am less willing to expand my horizons and seek advancement as its no longer important to me. I am more interested in staying where I am and perhaps streamlining the work I do so that it becomes an easier ride to the end.

Financially, it's a struggle. Nice to own a house. But it is taking it's toll. I am drinking a bit more often. Not really to excess because I don't like that feeling. But I am going through alcohol quicker. I think about suicide daily. Many times a day. It is always on the table. Why the hell am I still here. I'd promised myself many years ago that I would go when my cats went. Unfortunately, I'm still here. But when I find myself in random situations, for example, when I'm driving, and another driver makes a big mistake that could cause me to wreck, I instinctively swerve or brake, or do something so that I don't get hit. I have to shake this instinct and just hit head-on. Twice last week I could have ended it. But my instincts took over. Maybe there's a pill I can have prescribed that will help me to shake these survival instincts. Meantime I'm still here. Still going through the motions.

Why Am I Here, Really?

It's been a couple months now since I lost Finesse. Seven months since Style. I find myself just going through the motions. I work, get home, dawdle, sleep, wake, dawdle, sleep, repeat. Even though I have what many would presume to be a happy life, as well as a nice home and a lovely wife, I find that I am stagnating. I have given up on music. I no longer play any musical instrument. It doesn't being my joy anymore. I have a closet full of guitars that I am preparing to sell off. I just don't have the time or motivation anymore to do a band thing. I've turned down a few gigs so far this year and do not anticipate ever returning to any level of competence on any instrument I have ever previously mastered. It's not something I even want to do.

When Style and Finesse were here I had so much to look forward to. They were the very solidifying markers of my existence and also represented a very happy point in my life. Now that they are gone, I feel empty and worthless. Even more worthless than I have felt at any time in the past. I exist to work like a dog to earn money to pay bills which never end. A vicious cycle of life but not life. Is there anything that brings me happiness anymore? Some of the people in my life, close family, my wife, I guess.

What do intend to do? I intend to keep going until I can't. I have had plenty of instances where I've made a split-second life or death decision, always choosing life. Instinct over intent? Or instinct as unconscious intent? I'm still here. But why am I here, Really?

Not Myself

I've lost Finesse now. She went peacefully on September 11th around 3:30PM. With her have gone my hopes, dreams, aspirations, desires. Everything I was was bound to Finesse and Style. They were the reason I stuck around past 2000. They were my soul anchors. Each day that goes by I miss them more. I'd made a vow that I would stick around to take care of them and make their lives plentiful, beautiful, easy, and full of love. Implicit in that vow was that they were my only reason to continue. I feel lost. And every day that I remain here brings me further away from stability. I've started drinking a little more. Not to excess. But not limited to a glass of wine per week. I've had opportunities to do stupid shit for which I kick myself afterwards that that could've been the deciding moment. A bus driving towards me on the narrow road around UCLA veers into my lane, and I swerve when I should just stay put and let it happen. How stupid is that. Speaking of which. My wife makes me feel stupid and worthless more and more often. I'm bad enough at that on my own. I have no say in my house. I have no opinion at all. My voice doesn't matter and probably should be silenced. I'm thinking more and more of buying a gun and making a mess of the house. I wish I was less intelligent. Then I wouldn't be here for sure. I tried for years, smoking all that pot to make me stupider. Since I quit nearly 11 years ago, the haze lifted, and I can make smart decisions. So with just one smart decision left to make I find I am foundering and flailing and pretty much placing myself on a path. I don't know who I am anymore. And its not scary.

Getting Closer

Well, I’m down to one kitty. I’m still getting over the loss of Style. Fitness, the cat, has her own set of ailments. She has what appears to be a cancerous kind of tumor on her lower jaw. It appears to be irritating. I took her to the vet. And the doctor said that it would be best not to do surgery on a cat her age.  Instead, palliative care will be the course. The doctor prescribed Buprenorphine, which is a pain reliever.  I squirt a very small amount into Finesse’s mouth, and it’s absorbed instantly through the membranes and cheeks.

This is just a fix. For how long, who knows? I love her; she purrs, makes me smile. It's been a long time. I treasure every day she's here. And I made a pact with myself that I would not stick around once I have no one to take care of.

As far as getting things together for Pam... I need to make a will and secure some mortgage insurance so that when something happens to me, she'll be taken care of. I like to stare out at the ocean from the 8th floor at work. On a clear day you can see the boats on the ocean. There's a balcony right outside the window which is kept locked. I've only seen the maintenance workers go out there to take care of the plants. The vantage is excellent. Great views. See, there's still stuff that I like, that is timeless, that brings some comfort. A kid was screaming at the restaurant today. I wanted to go over there and smack the hell out of it. Wouldn't it be a different world if this kind of thing were acceptable? Parents might think twice before inflicting their brats on others. All it would take would be one well placed smack, the kid would be unconscious, and all would be silent except for the applause.