Day two of feeling like a train wreck. There were a couple of days last week where I literally rolled out of bed, did my hair, then got dressed and left, wearing the same clothes underneath as the day before. I didn’t do anything that wasn’t immediately required, because I was so out of it I couldn’t be bothered to care. I have never been like this. A shower has always been my top priority, which shows just how fucked up this whole thing is getting.

I’m whining, I realize that. But I haven’t told anyone about the reasoning behind my perpetual sleeping yesterday, or the extreme feelings of misanthropy the other day. All I want to do is sulk off by myself somewhere and not be asked any questions.

If this feeling lasts longer than a week, those pills will get fucking flushed without a second’s hesitation. Yes, they need time to begin working, yes I need to be patient, but when your mood has a tendency to change from alright to extremely suicidal within the span of a few minutes, every day counts more than anything. Maybe that sounds melodramatic, or childish, but when you’ve lived it there’s nothing more terrifying then suddenly deciding you hate everything about yourself more than you ever imagined, and that in a sense, for being such a failure, you deserve to die for it. Because it’s not as though you’re going to amount to anything or you’ll be good enough to change anything, is it? Might as well be done with it now to not only save yourself further humiliation, but save what little self-respect you have left.

I hate this. Waking up and feeling like it’s over when it’s a brand new day, because now I’m going to think about it, obsess over it. If I get tired today or fuck up like I sometimes do, I know that silently the words that always hit me at a moment like that will seep out of my subconscious to remind me of my constant, inevitable failure at nearly everything.

“If you had just taken care of the problem this morning, you wouldn’t be here doing this right now, would you?”


The Living Death

I’m numb. So incredibly numb I didn’t get out of bed until night had fallen, and only then because everyone was going out to dinner and I was expected to attend. I feel as though my body and my mind are not attached. We are two very separate things, and neither has any control over the other. Overly drugged. That is what it feels like. I know it must be the pills. This is such an awful feeling, like being in a prison. I know I wouldn’t have left my bed had I not been coaxed. I didn’t eat or go to the bathroom or even get a drink of water, I just laid there waiting for the hours to pass.

I’ve been awake for hours now and this has yet to subside. Even my mom made a comment that I was more quiet than usual, along with another statement from my dad that I looked ‘doe-eyed’. Tomorrow I have to go to work, and I can only hope that this will lessen by then. This is not living, not at all. What is wrong? Why is this happening? I can only think that it is my body adjusting. Hopefully it is only temporary, because even a week of this would be more than I could bear.

I’ll wake up from my nightmare soon. Nothing lasts forever.

More of the same.

I don’t know where to begin. It feels like a month has passed in the span of a couple of days. It just keeps stretching on and on until I think that I won’t be able to stand it, until I think that I’ll go mad with it all. Is this life? Is it really?

My medications are useless right now, and will be for a couple of weeks. So meanwhile I get to grin and bear it, hoping that it will have some positive effect while my employers do everything possible to ensure that I barely sleep because I am working so frequently.

It seems like I haven’t left that building because I keep working loads of hours over my designated time as I am apparently one of the few people familiar with opening/closing procedures and all the menus at the two times of day. I wake up and I’m there, I go sleep and there I am again. Everyone is red-eyed and grouchy, and I’m quickly learning to dislike more and more of the people there. I’m trying to blame it on the stress of running a brand new restaurant; it is not unexpected that they should be higher-strung at the moment. Perhaps when the rush is finally through their company will be more tolerable, because for now I want to turn around and have a confrontation with someone every few minutes, and I’m standing there gritting my teeth and smiling at their stupidity.

I keep telling myself it will even out soon, but it doesn’t feel that way. I have had even less of a desire to do anything than usual. I’ve come home at around 3:00 in the afternoon these last couple of days, yet I don’t utilize the time. I’m strangely not physically tired, it is much more mental. I just don’t want to deal with anyone or anything. I want to be left to myself and not have to listen to my mother speak or the people at work talking about how exhausted they are when I’ve worked twice the hours and am in the back running back and forth while they stand in the front doing nothing. The other day someone came in and complained because there were seven people in the front, most of which were milling around, while we had about four in the back, three of which—including me—were not scheduled. Why would you schedule one person to work assembly when it is the second week of opening for the store? Particularly when every night we have been so clogged with orders that not only do we have the four to prepare on the screen, but ten more backed up behind it, and a single grill person trying to man the fryers and the stove to keep us stocked.

Today, it happened again, and I was pissed. The woman I don’t like (who I believe doesn’t like me much either), had me doing grill. Well, she forgot to put someone on the fryers, so midafternoon, when everybody decides they’re hungry, I’m using all four grills at once, stocking bread because the assemblers keep running out, and trying to keep up with all the greasy fried crap at the same time because she conveniently had everyone on break simultaneously. When you’ve been there since six in the morning without stopping, it is a little trying on the nerves.

The last few days I’ve wanted to  just say “I’m done” and walk away, because I don’t care. I’m already tired of everyone having ‘breakdowns’, of being yelled at for no reason, and dealing with a bunch of incompetent morons. And it’s only been two weeks. This doesn’t matter to me. I don’t want to work. I couldn’t give any less of a shit about the money. I don’t want to do anything but fade away without being seen. I want to fall into oblivion and never come back from it, because if this is life, then I don’t want it. I didn’t want it a year ago and today I find myself feeling the same.

Sure, this is supposedly just a rough patch, but even when it isn’t, I find myself disappointed that such a dull, meaningless show continues to run when I am no longer interested in watching.

8/28/08 (a post made a day before this one, one year previous)

“College is very close. Another year of boring classes and feeling like a human tick. I just want everything to end, I don’t care if I come out of it dead or alive.”

Hurry up and wait.

As far as days go, today was not a nice day. It was 8 hours of non-stop testing of my extremely limited patience. I was on edge the entire time, and found myself barely containing all the snide comments that kept popping into my head. I didn’t want to be there, but I showed up. I’ve discovered already, from 8 hours of bonding, that I strongly dislike [hate] two of my shift managers, and can only just tolerate most of the other higher ups. In fact, the people I do like are other employees who transferred with me from the other restaurant that I am already somewhat familiar with. A few of the other newbies I’ve met seem like they might be alright, but unfortunately that doesn’t make much of a difference when you find yourself wanting to scream at the people who have the authority to order you around.

These aren’t the joking, happy-go-lucky people I’m used to, or the harmless girls chatting away in Spanish, these are people who go to work and hate their job and whine about how difficult it is (when it isn’t…). You know how many breaks I was supposed to have today? Three. I was supposed to have two tens and a half an hour lunch break. The place was so crowded and busy I literally never got to stop moving for the entirety of my stay. My shift manager, who was there barely three hours before she started claiming she was going to faint, she got her three breaks, even though she is fucking useless and had to ask me time and time again how to make everything. “What goes on this again?”, while the rest of the while making all these comments about how I should do it such and such way instead. Yeah, as if she knows and I should listen to her, when she can’t remember after the fifth time I’ve told her, how many slices of cheese go on a particular sandwich. This woman is supposed to be my superior.

Know how many breaks I got? One. A ten that was spent helping one of the girls in the front figure out how to work the new registers and trying to get my new clock in number to function properly. I got sent on errands today, which all went terribly, because no one knows where anything is, and the people who do were too ‘important’ to bother helping me out. I must have wasted a half an hour having to find things, frantically digging through boxes in the cramped freezer. I even made desserts today that I had never made before. No one bothered to tell me how, so I ended up having to use a chart I found tacked up on one of the walls. I don’t even want to think how long it took me to find all the things that went in it, along with the containers, the spoons, and the toppings. Then when I did get it all sorted out, a shift manager comes over asking me where I’ve been and why I’m taking so long and leaving all the fruit sitting out. Oh, gee, I dunno, maybe I was making the motherfucking desserts like I was told to? Maybe I asked you to show me where the ingredients were but all you did was say ‘in the freezer’ as though I didn’t already fucking know that. 

One thing that went well though was with one of the managers who showed up. He was supposed to be correcting us and helping us improve on our efficiency. Instead, because we were so swamped, he spent the whole time helping us out after he got told not to. Finally, they gave up telling him what to do because the extra set of hands made up for all the time lost while the machinery went insane. The hours really blurred together, and a lot of the people I know trickled in. Eventually I was surrounded by people I get on with well enough, and it made me relax a little. I was just counting down the minutes until my shift was over, and when it was, all composure was lost on me.

I went home and gritted my teeth. I had to leave the kitchen several times to keep myself in check, to keep myself from yelling at my parents to get the fuck away from me. My mother has a tendency to hover in the kitchen when I do, which is probably an unconscious thing, but it drives me nuts. It makes me crazy because I don’t want people to see what I am doing. Lately it’s been the same everyday: mindlessly eating. Constantly cooking, taking a few bites then throwing things away because nothing tastes good to me. Everything is bland. I pace around the kitchen, then stand in the pantry staring at boxes for minutes at a time, on the verge of hysterical. I’m unhinged. I’m all fucked in the head, and I don’t know how to raise my mood. Nothing I does improves it, it just grows darker and darker the longer I am conscious. 

We’ll see how tomorrow goes. I have work after my appointment, and that might make it impossible for me to pick up my prescription should my doctor be compliant. I need it now. As soon as fucking possible. I’ll do whatever I have to do in order to get it and begin getting a handle on this misery. I know it’s not going to change overnight; that’s not what I expect. But I believe that just having the pills, knowing they are there will at least make me a little hopeful. I’ll be able to endure until they do have time to take effect. Even the slightest alteration in my mood will do, I think, at least for a time.

We’ll see.

Numb beyond reason.

Yet it was what was needed. How ironic it should turn out this way. Apathy is such an amazing thing to me; I think I understand it, but suddenly I realize I know nothing at all about its inner workings. It’s my death but it is also my life. How can it be such opposite things at once? How can it work that way? I do not pretend to know.

I learned a lot of things today. The first of which is that I am my father, no matter how much I deny it. We all grow up to be our mothers when we’re girls and our fathers when we’re boys, but I went a slightly different route. I keep forgetting I am not the only one who lies.

She was crying and I was just looking at her blankly. I was so numb today that pride was not a factor. Nothing was a factor. I went to the store and bought as much useless, sugary food as I could. She let me. Even encouraged me, following after me with a cart like a little child as I paced back and forth down the aisles, pleased by nothing. I must have spent an hour looking, but she didn’t complain. Like a good mother she thought it was helping. She does not realize she was witnessing the final self-destruction, the final shred of self-control being released for the sake of the present. All for one more day. 

I have another day to wait. I plan to make it to that day, by any means necessary. My body is no longer off limits in any way. I don’t care if they see and are disgusted. I will do what I must to live. I will destroy the outside if it will bleed out even a fraction of the inside. It can burn for all I care.

Now that I am here in this place I see that it was not what I thought it was. It is not what is going to make me better. No one can do this for me or help me in any way. I must do this myself. I already am doing it myself. No words anyone says will improve me. And maybe I do want to be comforted, maybe that’s what I want the most, but that too will not alter this. I could be loved a thousand ways and I would still choose myself, I would still choose an out. The things that we are supposed to have will not be mine, and that is something I have to learn to accept.

I confessed everything, yet I still walk this darkness all alone. What she said was true: she knows my personality, she knows my ways, but she knows nothing of what is inside of me. Maybe no one really does. 

And I know it is my fault. All my fault. But that’s okay, I can live with that.


Ah, the Pepto Bismol pink. Now I’m just making fun of myself.

I got the appointment rescheduled for Wednesday with a physician’s assistant I’ve never met. I’m not sure what to expect, but I know that my mother forgot to mention that I refuse to go through any kind of physical examination, so I’m going to have to talk to them when I get there and hope for the best.

I don’t want to do a blood workup either, but with the depression medication I’m going to be asking for, they might require it. That I will consent to, even though there are plenty of things that could go wrong with it. My eating habits for one. I know my body is completely fucked off at present and I am taking diet pills among other things, and I have no idea if they would require a general blood test or what. Last time I went in I had to get virtually everything done as part of the yearly check-up, but this time I want to try and skip over all of it if possible. I’ve done some really stupid things and I would prefer to get by without having to deal with consequences for any of it. Yes, I know, world of consequence. But I have gotten by before, and I plan to this time. I don’t want to think about the getting weighed part either, but that is the least of my troubles.

I already made the decision that if a physical ends up being something I can’t get out of, I’ll simply leave. I’m an adult and I can do as I please. That includes walking out. They can’t force me to do anything. This is going to be on my terms this time. If I hadn’t been such an idiot this wouldn’t be a problem. I’m not even shy, and if it was any other time I really wouldn’t care less. But I’m so worried I’ve even been anxious about it, though it’s days away. I don’t even know if I will be able to go at all. I haven’t gotten my work schedule yet, and I will cancel if it conflicts, as dumb as that sounds. I haven’t been getting any hours because all we’re doing is cleaning, prepping the restaurant for opening. And the last two weeks before that I didn’t get good hours either because the other place I was at wasn’t getting enough business. They had to keep sending us home early since the earnings were well into the negatives. Everything is just at a bad time. Fucking timing.

I’m going to try not to stress myself out with any of it. I’m already feeling slightly better today, probably because I didn’t spend the entire day eating away my misery. I’m still ill, but not like I was, fortunately. I just have to get back to the old routine and I will forget about this for awhile. I won’t feel like every second that passes is me dying.

I can get better, I just have to try. I can make it to Wednesday.