Add a little more…

I’m not sure why I feel so awful today. I woke up in a terrible mood and refused to get up for over an hour. I’m not even sure why I do that; it really is stupid. It’s like my pathetic attempt at rebellion. “Oh, I hate my life so I’m not going to get up and make an appearance in it.” It makes me feel very young and moody again, like one of those caricatures they make of teenagers on shitty commercials, where the teen is in the background with their arms crossed over their chest and headphones in their ears, refusing to acknowledge anything. I must still be at that stage.

I have to get my taxes done today. I’m dreading it beyond all belief, and I swear if I have to pay anything heads will roll. I hardly get anything out of my check as it is, and the only reason I am getting enough right now is because I refused to get the medical insurance that I actually need. Hmm.

I’ve put on weight again too. I’ve been eating way too much. I haven’t even binged in weeks, but I’ve been having more than my fair share of food that is terrible for me. I think all I’ve been eating is pizza, cake, and sundaes. I don’t even care. I’m getting to that point where I may just stop dieting and say fuck it, because I honestly don’t give enough of a shit to change my ways right now.

I’m always stressed out from work even when I’m not at work. Like today is my day off, but there was a dread when I woke up, as I thought, “What if they called while I was sleeping? What if I have to get up, shower, and change, then go to work again and spend my whole day there?” Because let’s face it, that’s what keeps happening, over and over. If someone doesn’t show up, I’m the first person they come looking for. I feel like old reliable or something. I keep taking other people’s shifts, or manning shifts where we’re short somebody, and with how much they cut hours, that makes it absolutely insane. Nearly every day for the last week, I have been alone running the entire back of the restaurant for at least a half hour, if not more. There was one day where it was me for the entirety of dinner, alone.

They seem to think that because I can do it that makes it okay. It keeps happening more and more. I am beginning to wonder if my boss is personally altering my schedule more than everyone else’s. It’s done by a computer program for the most part, but the manager is supposed to review it and make changes where needed. Every time someone has called a few days ahead to warn us about a bus, or a huge rush of people, I end up on that shift. There was one day where a wrestling tournament was going on in town and I magically ended up being there in the morning that day, when they were coming. It was just me and a person on grill, and we made an insane amount of money that morning.

It’s funny, because I keep having this recurring fantasy of not showing up one day. Not showing up because I’m dead and can’t. I wonder what they would say, how they would react, when they finally figure out that, no, I’m not ever coming back. My father said to me a few days ago, “You should take a week off, see what happens.”

Yeah. But I don’t want just a week. It’s hard for me to even think straight anymore. I’m always so focused on this one thing. It’s like once you acknowledge it, you can never go back to the way you were before. It’s over. There is no fixing it.

My frustration is no longer about the situation; I’ve accepted that it is going to be unfair. My frustration is over the fact that all I seem to want to do is nothing. I don’t want to act, I don’t want to change anything. I want to take no action whatsoever and hope that somehow this all ends soon. I feel like I’m waiting for something else to kill me because I don’t think that I can. I don’t know if I have it in me to do it when I am so lifeless about everything. I have no emotion towards this; it’s like a game to me. I’m not even here most of the time. It’s just smile, work, smile, work. Come home, smile some more. Go to sleep. Do it again.

All I do is read garbage, occasionally play a videogame, and spend the rest of my time on the internet. I don’t know how any of this makes life redeeming. I’m not sure how anything makes this even a little bit worthwhile. It feels like a waste, like every day is a trip further into the negatives, wracking up this debt that can never be paid. I will never be repaid for suffering. I will either have to learn to like it, or take it quietly.

There is no happy ending to this.

I’m also wondering if showing up to get my taxes done drunk as fuck is a bad idea.

Caught in a cycle.

I don’t understand this anymore. Why can’t I change this feeling? I woke up so numb today that it is as though I am almost not even here. It’s like I lost myself in a dream, and only the barest of essentials were able to come back. It’s not fair when this happens. I hate it. I hate myself.

There is no point to this. I feel like god is laughing at me.

Oh yes, still there….

Yesterday I finished work and was milling around the lobby, not really doing much of anything. This always ends up making me feel awkward, and oftentimes, I’ll slip behind the counter again just to avoid the customers, even though I am off-shift and not allowed. Generally the managers don’t say anything to me, and I’ll even do a few things while I wait for my ride.

It was snowing most of the day, and though I was leaving at night, it was still coming down. I figured my ride would be there pretty soon, so I kept popping outside to check. Finally, irritated by the cold and not liking all the snow getting my clothes wet, I retreated back indoors. I always stay off to the side so no one will talk to me, but this time I was stupid and looking at one of the free newspapers up by the registers. One of the highschool girls who works counter saw me and begged me to take a tray over to some people.

Immediately I panicked. Full-on, complete panic. I look over to the other part of the lobby, then to this girl. For some reason this happens sometimes. Someone catches me off guard and there is no layer of armor to protect me from my clumsiness and awkwardness in nearly every social situation I encounter.

I know this girl fairly well. So I decide to go for honesty. My voice is low and cracks a little and it makes me want to hit myself. “I uh, I’m kind of shy,” I say, not even making eye contact.

“Come on, please?”

“Well I don’t know.” I keep looking over to the other part of the restaurant, and I want to curse her for making me feel so stupid all of a sudden. I was doing just fine lurking over in the corner being ignored.

She hands me the tray with some food and a receipt. I swallow, tempted to put it on the counter and leave. I’m not sure why this is such an issue, but suddenly it is, and I want nothing to with any of this. I gave her what must have been a pained look, because she grins at me and says, “go on!”

“It’s for an old couple,” she tells me as I walk away. “Cecil.”

I check around, not seeing anyone. An older man is over at the gas station and I briefly wonder if it is his. But then I spot them, over in the corner. I want to go hand the tray back to her and not do this, but my pride won’t allow it. ‘It’s too late,‘ I tell myself, ‘I’m already standing here.’

So I walk over. “Cecil?” I ask.

They say yes. And naturally my clumsiness kicks in. One of the boxed pies slides off the tray and onto the floor. At this point I’m ready to go have a session in my favorite bathroom stall with my favorite knife.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, though I’m not really hearing myself.

I pick it up and put it back onto the table not sure what to do. Should I go get another one? We always throw out food if it hits the floor, even if it is boxed or wrapped…. I stand there for a second trying to decide, but my nervousness gets the best of me and I wander away without saying anything else.

It was such a fucking simple thing. Something most people would call me a baby for being upset over. But I walked away feeling awful, and I thought about it even after I got home.  It’s like I can’t do anything right at all.

It would be a public service.

It seems like all that I can write anymore are arguments, little speeches that list all the reasons I am supposed to die. At one point, I refused to mention suicide on this blog. I never said outright what I was thinking, instead settling on leaving clues, my esoteric hints that I knew would not be decoded. It was saying the truth without really saying it. I could lie to myself and pretend that I was being honest anonymously. Have I ever been honest, truly? Am I even honest now? I can only wonder now if I am even capable of telling any kind of truth at this point in my life.

I can’t answer why, suffice to say that there is an emptiness here that I can’t fill. It is all empty, hallow. I feel like a shell slowly collapsing in on itself, self-destructing, dying. I feel as though the things I have done have mutilated my soul, like I can’t quite ever be fully a person again. This is a world of bleak grey without senses. Sensory deprivation. I can’t feel, and I have no way to compensate for that except by falling into ruts of hedonism that bring about more pain than anything else. Everything eventually dulls. Everything eventually falls apart. And maybe it is so because I allow it to be. Maybe I don’t have it in me anymore to hold up my house of cards. Maybe I secretly wish for the wind to blow it all away.

I feel like I’m in purgatory, waiting for my sentence with bated breath. I make dates, ever extending them as complications continue to arise. I have so much trouble letting go of anything, why should this be any different? I always turn back at the last instant, fearful, ashamed. Can you really stop so early? Do you really think this is the answer to everything?

Oh, but I believe it is. I believe it like nothing else. And it scares the shit out of me. I opened a door and now I can’t avoid this monster. And how sometimes I want to turn back. Sometimes there are these moments where I almost feel real. This almost feels like a true, flesh and blood life, not some antiseptic, sedated, third-person narrative.

I know nothing of anything and presume to know everything. I can’t help my own arrogance, it seems. It has stuck with me, even after years of being labeled as a useless idiot. Somewhere, part of me believes I deserve to have a life, just like everybody else. But the doubt seeps in. I am an unwanted, hated thing. Can I forever live in such a way? Can I forever live this half life where the most I can hope for is my own self-acceptance? Can that life truly mean anything at all if it is never shared?

I have so many questions, and the temptation to bleed the black into every sliver of hope is overwhelming. Kill it all, I say. Burn it out. Take it from my sight so I might never again be disappointed. I don’t want to be nothing, but I also don’t want to do what it takes to make this mean something. I feel too far gone for that.

I don’t really believe I will turn back and be okay—I took this on knowingly. I think I will see it through, sometime, someday, even if it is an age from now. There will be  a moment where I will bear the pain no longer. I will turn from these stupid musings and I will do something with all the anger and hatred that has been slowly building. I am my own torment, and sometimes all y0u can do is slay the beast. Sometimes things can’t be placated or resolved.

As much as it hurts me to say, sometimes things have to be destroyed.

I don’t care, I don’t care….

Yesterday I was a half an hour late for work because I got my schedule wrong. I came in and everyone was like, “Where were you?!” The people in the lobby were muttering how our staff is “slow as snails” (to quote one patron in particular), as I walk by. They have two people trying to fix the mess in the back, a common occurrence in the morning.

This happens all the time. I walk in, then immediately am expected to fix it. It sounds arrogant to say it, but it’s true. Every damn time. They just have me take over. I’ve had people say “so glad you’re here”, then just walk away from the assembly table without another word. There have been times where I’ve had to go up to the front computers to see where the runners are at on the orders so I know what’s left that needs to be made, since the person who abandoned ship conveniently forgot to tell me. Sometimes even checking up there doesn’t work and asking doesn’t work because nobody communicates and they forget to clear orders off the screen after they have already been handed out. Usually that means they get irritated because they think I didn’t make it, when in fact someone else already got the food and gave it to the customer.

When I got there the screen was at 740 seconds. The highest I have ever seen it. That means the average time for the order to be made—not even handed out, mind you—was 740 seconds. I have no idea in hell what they were doing. I’m lucky if they even schedule someone to work with me in the morning. Half the time they leave me alone almost all of breakfast and give me a brand new grill person that I’m expected to train. So not only am I doing everything, but training someone at the same time. They still haven’t even finished my testing so that I can be a crew trainer to train these people. They just expect me to know how. They’re supposed to be training me for manager and they haven’t done anything. So I get paid nothing, and have to do everything anyway.

I just wanted to leave. I want to ask for letters of recommendation and leave that shithole, because it is literally beginning to kill me. I can’t stop obsessing over killing myself right after I get home from a shift. It’s all I seem to think about anymore.

Strangers.

I got up earlier than I needed to. I’ve been sick since yesterday, but I did a full day at work anyway. It’s funny that I finally get more hours like I wanted when I least want them. We got a new dog, or rather, I did, and I am at work all day and haven’t been around him as much as I should be.

He’s not quite right, this dog. He’s disturbingly smart, and learns things from simply watching us. He was supposedly a stray, but he knows all sorts of commands, and every time I tell him to do something he seems to know what I want. He follows me and stands nearby, just watching, always watching. He hasn’t gone to the bathroom in the house once. He lays on the floor pretending to sleep, but I see his ears twitch when I walk around the room, pacing. occasionally one of his animal eyes opens just a sliver.

I’ve had him three days, and for various reasons have already deeply considered returning him to the humane society even though he has been a more or less model dog. He doesn’t bark, he doesn’t bother. He’s obedient and intelligent. He sleeps through the night and scratches at the door when he needs to go out. He’s even loving and gets extremely excited when I come home.

He’s thought about biting me twice (the same occasion) and growled at me once. I’ve learned to leave him alone when he’s tired because he gets irritated. I know it was mostly my fault all of those time, but he’s a 125 pound dog with a massive head and a set of teeth to match. He may act placid, but he’s got a mind of his own and if I do something he doesn’t like he could seriously injure me. And it’s not even me I’m concerned about, it’s my pets. 

The vet already said he is possibly a wolf hybrid. Wolf hybrids are legal in this state (I’ve even seen ads for them in local newspapers), though there are certain regulations regarding their vaccinations and what is to be done to them if they attack something. I didn’t enter into this with that on my mind; I assumed he was just a Malamute and there wasn’t much to be worried about. But all the things the vet told me are beginning to bother me. At first, when he told me, I completely denied it in my mind. I figured he was just a little odd looking. But now I see the way his tail hangs limply to his legs instead of curled over his back, how his eyes are set a little too close together, how the pattern on his coat is a little irregular, how his skeletal structure is kind of wrong, with his withers and shoulders nearly even instead of sloped. He could just be a ’pet standard’ and be a little wonky in build from bad breeding. Or he might have another breed of dog in a little more distant heritage that altered his structure a bit. Even if he did have wolf in him, I would be willing to bet that it was a couple of generations back.

His behavior is not wolfish. He’s not shy or aggressive. He doesn’t hide. At the same time, even the vet commented how odd he was, how he didn’t act at all like any of the Malamutes he’s dealt with. He even tolerates my mother’s four pound chihuahua and appears to be friendly toward cats. Again, not very Malamute of him or very wolf. 

Yesterday, however, I almost took him back. I am that convinced. Even if he isn’t and he is just a dog, I’m worried that his just acting how I want him to act, and that sooner or later he is going to do something I never saw coming. He’s got something sinister about him that I don’t quite like, and I’m not sure if the vet visit just made me paranoid or it was the other day when he grabbed my hand with his mouth. Twice. He didn’t even bite me, and his touch was so light that he didn’t even get saliva on my hand. But it was a clear warning of ‘don’t touch me’ and I didn’t like it. 

The reason I didn’t return him is because he is an animal. I respect animals. I respect them above all else. He is not here to do everything I tell him, and he is not here to be a predictable, sweet yellow lab. I can’t expect him to be perfect, or to not get agitated about certain things. And I know that if I do something he believes to be threatening…I have no doubt in my mind now that he may hurt me intentionally. But I know that if he did something to even suggest that he was going to hurt me or one of my other animals, I would not hesitate to shoot him. That’s how it works. We’re on the same page in that respect, and I think that’s something we can work on. He appears to have similar concerns about me, though we play it like we’re already friends.

He gets skittish when I move too quickly. I saw the look in his eyes when I picked something off of the table a little too fast, the way he stiffened and his ears went back, like he assumed I might hit him with it. I’m cautious when I bend down to pet him, even though at times he will rub against me and sigh, wagging his giant tail. When I get home, he leans his whole body against my legs so I’ll pet him. I really don’t have all that much reason to be suspicious of him. He acts like any dog would act. I don’t know, maybe I’ve just been too long without a dog to know anymore.

       

I can’t even begin to explain how much I wish I wasn’t around today. I’m so consumed by it that it’s hard to move, hard to think. I shouldn’t be here at all. I wish I could just be strong enough today, for once, for one last time. 

I’ve considered poisoning myself, but it seems like a weak alternative, and I’m so afraid my one attempt won’t work. I’m so afraid to do it, with finality, then wake up. It would be the absolute worst senario.

Waiting

Sometimes you have reactions to things that shock you. I realize that I do lie to myself a lot. I lie to others, maybe because I’m scared of what they would think; I’m scared what I think even more so. I’m not sure what any of it means, except that what I was before, that complete detachment, it’s still very much there, only now it is covered in a very final layer of emotion. It’s not real emotion, not like most people know. This is something different. This is like a shield. This is something I made so that no one would ever suspect a thing. This is something I made so I wouldn’t have to fully acknowledge that I am truly lost as a person. There is no redemption or turning back from what I’ve done; I did it. I wanted it. I’ve lost everything to live, even for a short stint. I see glimpses of that more than ever. I just cannot stand to lose, not even to this.

In humanistic psychology they refer to this awakening as ’self-actualization’. I always thought the humanistic approach was a whole lot of rot; a useless psychology for philanthropists and social butterflies who were stuck on optimism. In essence, being stuck on optimism is just as foolish as being entirely stuck on pessimism. Opposites are always that way when extreme; they may appear outwardly as complete separate animals, but at the core both have the same failings as one another, just as it is with a hero or a villain. But reaching the higher self? That is an idea I don’t sneer at.

What is it then, what is it you want? What is it you dream? I know what it was, what the vision was before. I have been avoiding that idea, that vision, because it breaths a hopelessness into my life that nothing else ever has. I say it and people look at me as though I’ve gone mad, as though I’m the saddest, most pathetic of things. That poor, pathetic girl, they must think. She has to rationalize her existence by making up some ridiculous hypothesis! But it wasn’t ridiculous then and it isn’t now. It is, honestly, the only thing that has kept me going. It’s stubborn, it’s arrogant, it’s beyond common definitions of selfishness. It’s nearly the opposite of being alive, but it worked. It was a living death, but goddamn it, it worked. I lived through the darkest parts of my life believing in it, holding that sick little secret close. It was only through this idea that I came to terms with my feelings of nothingness, this overwhelming numbness that has been haunting me for years and growing steadily worse, more holistic.

I took this on all alone because I knew it was so. I knew it was how it would always be, no matter who I met or what happened. I will always go back to that state. I will always have that flame at the center of my soul, burning, that animal sense of abandoning so-called ’sanity’, of having no guilt for being what I am. And it will kill me; I have no doubts about it. It will be my end, but it will keep me here longer than anything else will, and I will bear this for as long as I must until I am finally done and lay myself to rest. I am the god that decides my fate. I will call it control because it suits me, even if it isn’t completely true. If it is fate, then so be it. If this is my design? So fucking be it. I will die telling myself that I chose it, that I followed the darkness all the way to where it begins.

*********************************

I had what should have been terrible dreams. But I was laughing in them. I was standing on the balcony laughing. Laughing at my own abuse. Because it is funny. Because I deserve it. Because this is what everything is: unfairness, darkness. The kindness doesn’t often come. And down in the darkest of corners you can scream until you become hoarse. You can cry and you can beg and you can pray for some savior to come get you, god or otherwise.

But it’s a call that will go unanswered. You either get up and shoulder your burdens, or you stay paralyzed with fear in your corner. Because no one cares. No one will bother to go all the way for you. You’re all alone in your world of blackness and bleakness, and all of your demons are going to come for you, someday, somehow.

You can’t escape the darkness.

Hibernation.

I need to do the stay-up-all-night-then-go-to-work-at-5:30 thing more often. I was half asleep my whole shift, and I finally looked over at the manager who I like to work with and said, “I don’t have a brain. I give you my full permission to order me around like a slave.” I was alone a lot of the morning because the new guy didn’t show up for me to train, the girl who was scheduled left early because she couldn’t stop making runs to the bathroom, and there I am trying to remember what it is I’m supposed to do in the morning.

 I kept running out of food because I forgot to make things and didn’t have time even when I did remember. So managers keep showing up off and on, doing this or that, and I’m in no shape to tell them what to do or anything. I just wave a hand in the general direction of the grill, yank out a bunch of trays, and hand them over. Apparently no one else slept either.

The whole crew was dead tired (except the manager who came by later), glassy-eyed and staring. Then of course, some guy comes to the counter asking for a coffee with 12 creams and loads of sugar. Then he goes on a tirade about how it’s just like vagina. I still don’t know where that came from. The managers just raise eyebrows, hands tied by the laws of fast food, which dictate we aren’t allowed to say ‘fuck off’ to customers. It’s too bad really. I think we would be much more productive and happy individuals were we allowed to say what came to mind.

Then the shake machine explodes on another manager and things get more interesting.

We were given warnings again about language. We all curse like sailors. And even those who didn’t curse before they came to work here…now curse, even the Christian woman who used to say ‘crapload’ picked up ’shitload’ from me and everyone else. Now we all cuss. Loudly. So I came in day before yesterday to hear one of the managers say ‘fizzle sticks’. It feels like elementary school for the second time.

I was sick my whole shift because of the orlistat I’m taking which had combined with the junk I ate the night before (I had done this on purpose because I knew it would make me ill). I had a binge the night before last, wrote two suicide notes, and was only prevented from leaving the house because my parents were still awake. The mood passed, but it took a good few hours for me to calm down. It was just a bad day all around.

When I left work yesterday, I was determined to get things done, even tired. I packaged up the stuff I’ve been avoiding for a week, sealed it all up and had it shipped. I bought some groceries so I won’t have to starve, I went to get hair dye at the store (only to find they didn’t have what I wanted…) and ran into a coworker, then I went home and passed out for 17 hours (yes, I counted).

I admit I’ve been letting myself go. My hair has grown out almost an inch of red already, but I haven’t bothered to dye it. Then I’ve been watching what I eat, but still having smaller binges. I’ve kept off what I lost, but I haven’t lost anymore because I’m eating too much. But I haven’t been able to keep weight off in months, so I guess this is a good sign, even if I don’t like it. I’ve also been rewearing my uniforms from work, never a good habit. I’m just lazy and don’t feel like bothering with anything beyond taking a shower. My hair got so bad from being washed with just water, that it was a stringy mess and I finally had to wash it because when I let it down it gathered in chunks. I should be disgusted, but for whatever reason I just didn’t care. I even went to the store yesterday wearing a sweater over my uniform though I had plenty of time to change. I guess it just happens like that. You go through phases of not caring at all. 

But I feel better after that long sleep. I just hope I’m out of the darkness, even for a little while. That lasted way too long for my liking.

1/11/09

I’ve been like this for a week and a half now. Or is it two weeks? I’m in a hole I can’t seem to get out of. Every time I crawl toward the edge I seem to lose faith and slip back down again.

I got my review at work. I guess I should be feeling something about that. I found out early in the morning when I was looking over the mangers’ shift schedule (I often read over it to see what’s going on) that I was scheduled to meet with my boss.  So I had to wait all day until it actually happened, ten minutes before I was scheduled to clock out and go home. Oddly, I wasn’t nervous until fifteen minutes or so before. Mostly because I knew what I needed to do. I’ve been trying to get my boss alone to talk about a few things, and I knew this would be my only real opportunity. I knew I needed to use it regardless of the fact that I was tired and not at all in the mood to deal with any of it.

I don’t seem to feel anything about anything, and it has me beyond frustrated. Even my nervousness seemed obscured by a heavy blanket of numbness. It’s like being far away. It’s like I’m not even me, I’m just watching me, disinterested in everything that goes on.

I hate it. I hate it so much I want to fucking drag feelings out of me, I don’t care how. I just want to feel something. Anything. I just want to know that I am not some mindless fucking zombie incapable of emotion.

It’s late. I don’t know why I keep talking. I want to change something but I am so afraid this can’t be changed. Even when I hit the upswing of this mood, the numbness will not fully subside. It never does.

I’ll continue—whether I like it or not, no matter how angry I try to get—to be hollow. I can scream all I want about it; it has no mercy when it comes to me. I want to try to be positive and think good things, but all I have right now is doubt, doubt about everyone I care about, doubt about what I’m doing. I don’t like any of it. I want nothing to do with it. I can’t help but think the only solution is being somehow disassociated from it.

I’m too tired to be writing. Fuck it, I’m going to bed.