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.