week: who the fuck knows

i haven't written in a few weeks.

it seems like with everything going on in the world, EVERYONE is writing a think piece or how this is impacting them or any of the millions of articles related to the current state of the world.

the main thing i've seen in response to the deluge of writing is people saying the last thing they want is another think piece.

so.

i've just...not.

well, that's half of it.

the other half is bad habits kicking back in.

today is not a good day.

and like all my other bad days the first thing i do is tell myself to shut up about it. no one wants to hear a whiner. everyone is having a hard time right now. suck it up buttercup.

all the usual players are here- shame, guilt, anger, fear, judgment, insults, insecurity...

BUT.

the whole point of this writing project was to be honest with myself. stop hiding from the hard stuff. write it out.

i've been monumentally stupid in the last few weeks.

for about a month i was accidentally forcing myself into a terrible postpartum depression. i mixed the wrong supplements under the idiotic thinking that "if they sell it at target, it can't be bad for you."

i researched evening primrose oil as a natural way to help skin and pms among other things. i researched the shit out of it, like i do everything else. a few minor side effects listed: headache, digestive issues. no big deal. first few days my boobs HURT but digging a little deeper showed one of the "side effects" was breast growth. huh. weird. whatever.

then i started noticing my skin getting WORSE. way worse. painful cystic acne worse. but, you know, things take a minute to adjust. maybe it's just purging the bad stuff out of my system then it will all clear up.

OR.

maybe i'll randomly mention something to a friend (an herbologist) who lets me know: btw, it kinda tricks your body into thinking it's pregnant. oh, and also that other supplement you take can also be used as an abortificant.

THAT'S RIGHT.

i'm dumb enough to mix supplements that simultaneously made my body think it was pregnant AND trying to abort causing a postpartum like depression. because that's what i need. MORE DEPRESSION.

on top of that i've been in the middle of a rent strike at my apartment.

since all this covid bullshit has started, my building management has refused to provide any kind of rent relief OR clean the building. after repeated emails to them asking to have common areas cleaned, the finally sent a (nasty) notice with their cleaning schedule (fake), the areas cleaned (still visually dirty) and the products used (i would love to see reports on how a swiffer cleans covid).

i'm at a loss. technically they provided what i asked for. they state the cleaning is being done. it would be my word against them if i complained (if i even found someone to file a complaint with). they're being absolutely terrible up to and including threatening eviction. yes, i know they can't evict right now, there's a 150 day moratorium. it's still massively blows though. i have NEVER not paid rent OR ever even been late on my rent. it's been a point of pride in my 21 years of rental history. i'm furious that there's nothing i can do. i'm furious that they're lying. i'm furious that the building is dirty and unsafe, especially as most of the other tenants are older. but what can i do? i'm shouting into the void. it's my tiny voice against a corporation who has zero interest in doing what's right.

the same thing is happening at work. i've heard the "you should be grateful to still have a job" line so many times and it's so abusive. the company didn't let us keep our jobs out of a magnanimous gesture. they did it to keep making money. they didn't "let" us all work from home out of goodwill. if that was the case, it would have been available YEARS ago. they did it because they need to keep money hitting the accounts. they sent out a corporate wide email about how they're not paying out 19 billion in shareholder payments right now to "help the company" during this time. YOU WANT TO HELP THE COMPANY? use some of that 19 billion euro to provide full medical and living wages to your employees. stop pushing productivity right now. let people adjust to the entire world being a fucking dumpster fire. say "people should have adapted to work from home by now..." ONE MORE TIME YOU FUCKING ASSHATS. it wasn't a one time thing. it's a continuously evolving trauma that gets worse the deeper we get into it and as patience and mental health erode.

again, just screaming into the void.

that's the frustrating thing for me. so many things are changing. people are coming together. communities are finding ways to support each other. but the fucking over keeps happening. and that's not going to change any time soon.

why are we all trying to pull each other up by our boot straps?

that meme about how we're all just passing around the same $20 on venmo?

it's not fucking funny because it's REAL. we're all worried about each other when the people who can make a difference are fighting over who gets the credit and money.

it's just so fucking defeating.

in addition to all this, my poor little puppers is in heat again. she's extra needy, extra smelly, extra disgusting, extra potty accident prone. my apartment is disgusting right now. i've tried every different type of puppy diaper on her and nothing works. so. all the blankets and rugs are in desperate need of washing. my whole apartment reeks because there's no amount of cleaning i can do right now to make things clean. i open the windows when i can, but my radiators have never worked right and the weather is still fucking COLD more than not. it just feels gross.

and then today (TMI WARNING: LOOK AWAY) i started my period (periods during a pandemic should be illegal) so now we're BOTH feeling miserable and gross.

two bitches in heat.

social distancing is for YOUR safety right now.

(not stella)

in the middle of all this i meditated for a few days and came to the difficult decision that i had a friendship i needed to step away from for a bit.

spoiler alert, it did not go well.

not the first time. won't be the last. but it did make a difficult decision even harder. i spent a great portion of my life, adult and child, not speaking up because of the fear of backlash. it took a long time after getting out of domestic violence to be able to speak my mind again (yes, me, the loudmouth).

the reaction showed that it was the right decision, but it was still a terrible ending.

and it's hard to let go of one of your people when you only have a few people, in a time when you can't have ANY people.


*sigh* so. that was a lot of whining and complaining.

it's been a lot.

i feel myself shutting down.

i feel myself withdrawing, which, when you're home alone...is weird.

i've been trying to do the things. i'm still taking my daily vitamins. hopefully no longer poisoning myself while doing so. i'm trying to meditate (you can tell you're not in a great headspace when meditating makes you angrier). i'm trying to stick to a regular sleep schedule. i'm trying to shower daily (only missed 1 so far!). i'm still ordering/picking up groceries and basics. i'm still eating(ish). i'm trying to read but i can't focus on anything and end up reading the same sentence 6 times and still not reading it.

i'm sure some of it is still my hormones trying to sort themselves back out. most of it is just my own shitty behavior and thought patterns.

i'm tired. i'm tired of fighting for my mental health. i'm tired of working so hard to string together a few good days just to get derailed again. it's fucking exhausting having to fight with my own brain every single day. i know it takes a lot of time and hard work to change behavior patterns. i've worked really hard, for years, to recognize and interrupt the bad crap and replace it with the good.

i haven't had a therapy appointment in a few weeks. i forgot to schedule another session after my last zoom session. partly because i'm TERRIFIED of the bill. i haven't seen a bill since i started going again back in december. i KNOW my insurance doesn't cover all of it. hell, my insurance might not cover any of it until my deductible is met. i read through all the documents several times but it's so fucking confusing. that means...let's see...9 appointments, probably at least $100 each means...i'm fucked.

also, i'm 98% sure my therapist is as exhausted from talking about the same bullshit over and over as i am. every time she gently reminds me "we've talked about this before..." i just want to scream I KNOW. WELCOME TO MY BRAIN. i get so mad at myself for being stuck on the same fucking issues over and over. i know it's annoying as fuck on her end. it has to be, because it drives me fucking insane. I KNOW THE ANSWER. I KNOW THE WORK. I KNOW HOW TO ADJUST THIS. and then i just get stuck again.

i'm trying to...i just need a win, you know?

work from home: week 1

well.

i promised myself when i started this project i would write about it all.

the good, the bad, the ugly.

this was a bad week.

this was a period hormones, world pandemic, social distancing, work from home notice, struggling to find a reason to stay alive week.

we'll start easy.

last week people started shifting to working from home. the first wave was 25% on friday the 13th. by tuesday it was up to 90%. there were a few of us hold outs at the office.

i prefer to work from an office. i NEED human contact. even if it's just the people walking by on the way to get coffee, IT'S PEOPLE.

i'm not a social person. this is not shocking news.

work is 87.2% of ALL my social interactions.

friday they gave us the official boot and i packed up all my shit and set up my tiny little desk to be my new office.

the work part doesn't bother me. all i need is my computer and a phone.  working from home will be nice in a LOT of ways. no warm toilet seats in the bathroom. no annoying coworker leaving passive aggressive notes on an EMPTY desk claiming it in the middle of everyone being sent home. no assholes leaving both coffee pots in the kitchen empty.

i'll have art to look at all day. plenty of light and windows to see outside. proper meals whenever i'm hungry.

i'll miss the cafe. the baristas were so incredibly nice.

i'll miss seeing my cube-neighbor every morning.

i'll miss the people whose names i don't know but i talked to in the kitchen every morning.

i'm so, so, so immensely grateful to have the opportunity to work from home.

i'm just really struggling with the corporate overlords hyper focus on numbers and productivity and not leaving ANY room for work flow shift as we all adjust to this new normal. i'm struggling giving even the tiniest rats ass about an auto dealership in texas getting fiber internet installed right now. which is...what i do. so.  you know. gotta figure that part out.

i'm nervous about 2x daily group team chats. my new "office" is in my bedroom. because...studio apartment. the potential awkward is off the charts.

i'm nervous about disconnecting at the end of the day. about remember what day it is. i'm already struggling wanting to spend "just a little bit of extra off the clock time" going through file names and cleaning up how things are saved in files i know other people access. now that we're all working from home i have this (virgo) need to organize everything since people won't be able to pop by my cubicle real quick to ask a question.

i worry that i'll be the weak link that will make everyone else not be able to get things done remotely.

i worry that i've only been at this job 4 1/2 months and still barely know my ass from my elbow.

i'm pretty mad at myself right now for never figuring out how to be a stay at home mom or a stay at home partner.

i would give anything right now for my biggest problem to be worrying about how to get acrylic nails off at home since salons are closed and it would be mortifying for anyone to see my nails grown out (real post from a fb group).

OH THE HORROR.

but, alas, i am not a stay at home wife or partner.


i'm still the same, single, social pariah i was last week.

which leads into some of the really bad stuff in my head this week.

my oldest son had to be on a nebulizer for years.  twice a day breathing treatments. we'd put the little drops in the machine and he would wear the darth vader mask while watching a veggie tales video.

the doctors were never able to tell us WHY we had to do that. he didn't have allergies. he didn't have asthma. we found out later, during a growth spurt, that he has sunken chest syndrome where the cartilage on his ribs on one side curves IN instead of OUT. did that cause it? there's one corrective treatment for it...they basically cut you in half and strap a metal rib cage to the cartilage and hope it corrects itself. that's it. we chose not to do that treatment.

does it still affect his breathing? does it make him more at risk for things like corona? i don't know.

last i knew he was living in the bellingham area.

ground zero for the united states.

would anyone even tell me if he got sick?

i doubt it.

my youngest son had early onset puberty at 6 months old. we started seeing pediatric endocrinologists. a few years later he had a reaction to an MMR shot and i discontinued immunizations for years because of how it affected him. this is why i keep my mouth shut about anti-vaxxer stuff. i don't know about for EVERYONE, but i watched it directly and extremely markedly affect my son.

we had *just* moved out of a domestic violence situation. he had JUST started interacting with people. talking. walking. engaging. social. happy. bubbly. got his mmr shot and that all went away.

so we stopped vaccines. instead we did speech therapy, reading therapy, behavior therapy. mentors and tutors and intervention programs at school. we started them again when he was 13 and the local school district stopped allowing medical exemptions for school records.

as he was 13 and in charge of all his medical decisions, i explained why i had stopped the shots, explained what i saw were the risks and the benefits and he made the decision to get caught up on his shots.

within a few months his behaviors had completely changed. his attitude was different. his reasoning, his discussions, his interactions. his behaviors at school started to fall apart. he started running away, getting into drugs, getting into fights, arguing with police officers.

regular teenage hormones + high school + friend influence? or some form of an allergic reaction that altered him again, the same way it did when he was a baby?

I DON'T KNOW.

does it affect his health now? does his pattern of high risk behavior put him more at risk for contracting/spreading this virus?

again, would anyone tell me if he got sick?

my mother is somewhere in alabama. she'll be 65 this year. she has ankylosing spondylitis in conjunction with iritis. the lifetime of medications from controlling those started causing pancreas issues years ago.

if she got sick would anyone tell me?

i have a brother who is a king county deputy.

a cop. in the middle of a pandemic. that started in his county.

and he goes to work every day. then goes home to his wife and 2 kids.

king county sent out a work-from-home notice a while ago. strangely enough his boss didn't agree to allow him to catch bad guys from his recliner. so it's a daily hi-ho and off to work for him.

luckily everyone else is dead.

grandparents all kicked off a long time ago.

i don't have to worry about my dad (also a cop) out in this.

i don't have to worry about my little brother living in seattle without insurance during this.


it's a weird feeling when you're glad people are dead.

and then there's me.

i'm the fucking worthless lump of nothing sitting in my apartment, 99% unaffected by any of what's happening and 100% unable to help with any of it.


i'm still fucking broke.

as much as i want to, i have zero ability to support local businesses trying to get through this.

I WISH i could order food from local restaurants. i fucking LOATHE cooking, even in the best of times.

I WISH i could sign up for online yoga and zumba and work out classes. even if i could afford it, i live on the third floor and we're ALL stuck at home and i really don't think my neighbors want to listen to elephant on parade every day.

i don't know how to sew OR own a sewing machine. even if i did, you really, REALLY wouldn't want a mask made by me.

i could run errands for neighbors but that would include A) talking to my neighbors (the meth heads can fend for themselves), B) going out where all the fucking assholes that AREN'T taking precautions are, and C) doing shopping. something i can barely force myself to do, for myself, unless i am completely out of everything.

i'm not a musician. i'm not an artist. i'm not a comedienne. i don't have anything in particular to contribute to the online community.

my skill set is this:
-sitting completely still reading (the same books over and over) for hours on end.

-professional level social distancing. i've been getting stood up by dates for 21 years. i was social distancing before it was even a thing.

- subsiding on a diet of trash panda food

-hiding my emotions and feelings behind carefully crafted jokes and half stories.



so. yeah. i'm struggling right now.

there's nothing like a global pandemic to show you how completely useless you are.

so.

yeah. 

i'm struggling.

i don't have a particularly positive note to end this on.

and that annoys me.

complain as much as you want AS LONG AS YOU PROVIDE A SOLUTION.

fuck.

ok.

well. i'm still hunting for silver linings.

i'm still trying.

I'M WRITING EVEN WHEN IT'S BAD.

that's something.

i'm being honest.

i'm still putting this out there even though there's a REALLY, REALLY, REALLY loud voice in my head screaming with all it's might FUCK OFF YOU TWAT. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE IT REALLY BAD RIGHT NOW? cry a little more you pathetic useless piece of shit from your comfy, colorful, safe apartment. you still have a job. you have plenty of food. you have puppy snuggles. suck it up buttercup.

but i've listened to that voice for years.

i've done the suck it up buttercup thing.

i've spent way too long keeping silent just because someone else has it worse.

there will ALWAYS be someone who has it worse.

growing up in the 80's taught me that.

DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY STARVING CHILDREN THERE ARE IN AFRICA?

so.

things are bad.

but i'm still here.

i made myself write this.

that's a start.

i knew starting this project there would be a LOT of changes. i knew anything could happen in a years time.

i did NOT expect this.

but.

i mean.

i'll get through it.

part a

so. big announcement: i am changing jobs soon. like, very soon. like, monday.

this has been a while coming; i’ve been scouting on the dl for several months now. there are a myriad of reasons for this change that are all separate but all the same.

when people ask me why i’m doing this, i’ll say the polite, politically correct, short form answer: i need health insurance. part time work doesn’t provide medical insurance, retirement, paid holidays, pto...you get the idea. i’ve been working 50 hour weeks from 7-5 M-F but can’t afford to buy insurance off the exchange but i make too much money to qualify for state health insurance.

i made the change to get health insurance. it’s polite. it’s simple. it’s true.

it’s a comfortable, socially acceptable, easy answer.

i worry so much about not making other people uncomfortable. i worry about not being “that person” at events. i don’t want to be the debbie downer. i spend so much time thinking of the simplest, best way to say things so i’m not a burden to other people. maybe a little bit of truth mixed with plenty of jokes and some self deprecating jokes. i try so hard to minimize everything. make it palatable small little perfectly proportioned doses of “my crazy.” 

that’s literally what i call it. “my crazy.”

the real reason, the fraught with terror, over-analyzed decision and thought behind this change, all the circumstances that piled up to this...they’re ugly. they’re messy. they’re complicated. it’s all the worst stuff. no one wants to hear that. no one wants to hear my sob story. everyone has their own shit. this is mine. i just need to learn how to deal with it better. suck it up buttercup. it’s bootstrap pulling time. don’t you dare burden other people with this. they all have enough going on. 

these are the things i say to myself. and i do. i keep it to myself. i have maybe 3 people that know what’s been behind this. like, REALLY behind this. 

and this is such a hard thing to say, but someone has to start saying it because i don’t think i’m alone in this and that’s heartbreaking if other people feel this way.

here we go.

i have pervasive suicidal thoughts.

i'm changing jobs because i need medical insurance. i need to be able to get back into therapy. i need mental health care.

like, I NEED mental health care.

i’ve been struggling with pervasive, intense, can’t shake it suicidal thoughts for a year now.

chronic pervasive suicidal idealization. 

up until may i had state insurance and was seeing a great therapist weekly.

in may, my financial review came up and since the last renewal a year ago i’ve had a MAJOR change in household. when my teenager lived at home we both qualified for state provided health insurance. when my household changed, it disqualified me for coverage. that meant no more therapy. which i need to deal with the whole reason there was a change in household. that’s a fun little infinity loop.

since may i’ve really struggled with a growing pile of things i need help sorting through. my over thinking, self hating brain has just been spiraling. the CPS reports i had requested from my case back in december finally arrived. it’s pretty hard to read the interviews and reports and the things my own kid said against me. i’ve really been struggling with why my own kid would say such blatantly false things about me. blatantly. false. told them i had multiple pimps. told them i’m an iv drug user. told them i abuse him daily and put out cigarettes on his arms.

none of those things are even in the smallest portion even a tiny bit of truth.

the report goes on for several pages and there’s some really ugly things. and people signed off on this. the grandparent he’s staying with signed off on these reports. and do people really believe this about me? they signed the papers. that means they didn’t DISAGREE.  he’s telling all these people just horrible made up things. how can my own child hate me that much? how can my own kid want to hurt me that much?

man. that gets into some pretty. ugly. corners.

i’ve also been struggling with just- existing. when you live alone there’s a LOT of quiet time. that’s a lot of thinking time. that’s a lot of time to finally process YEARS of trauma. that’s a lot of nights realizing how you respond to things, decisions you make, roadblocks in relationships...all the things. all the parts in life that have been hit by the ripple effects of years of stuffing trauma away. of just getting through it. just keep going. don’t think about it, just get up and go to work. take the kids to sports. do the school meetings. get the groceries. keep things working.

and then when you stop and all those ripples catch up it quickly turns into a tidal wave.

things have been rough at work too. one of my bosses and i have VERY different viewpoints on life. it’s challenging to work for someone who is staunchly opposed to all the basic parts of my life: LGBT is a lifestyle choice (and a wrong one). women’s rights are just an attack on men. vaccinations, religion...we’ve had some interesting discussion.

and don’t get me wrong, it’s not an openly hostile environment. it’s not in my face very day. and i know, work is like family thanksgiving dinner: never discuss politics, religion or relationships. but that’s where i spend 80% of my life. those are almost exclusively the only people i talk to, ever. and people need connections, conversations. 15 minutes chatting with a coworker so i’m not completely isolated all day every day is necessary. but sometimes you learn things about people you can’t unlearn.

i’ve also realized in the last few months just how bad my anxiety is and how far back it goes. i don’t think many kids lay awake at 8 years old counting to sixty over and over and over again while staring at smoke detectors to make sure the damn thing blinks and is working WHILE simultaneously planning 2 different escape routes. i don’t think most people spend HOURS, DAYS, YEARS going over every interaction with friends and strangers trying to suss out all the wrong things said, all the ways i potentially offended them, all the “weird” things i said that will make them never talk to me again. added bonus: the whole ghosting trend in dating has really not done me any favors.

it’s been a lot. and somewhere, in the back of my head this whole time, the WHOLE. TIME. is the though: maybe you just shouldn’t exist anymore. look at all the bullshit surrounding you. think how much better things would be for everyone else if they didn’t have to listen to your bullshit. omg. you’re such an energy drain. don’t you dare talk to anyone. they don’t need to worry about your dumb ass. don’t say anything to panic anyone. just figure out a way to not exist. i have notes saved in my phone like this:

“wouldn’t it be ironic if the loneliness from cutting all the abusive people out of my life is what ends up killing me.”

i slowly and repeatedly sift through all the ways i couldn’t off myself: i could never leave a mess for some poor unsuspecting person to clean up after anything involving a gun. besides i hate guns. i couldn’t take pills. some poor first responder would have to deal with that. i can’t do anything that some unsuspecting person would have to encounter.

then it shifts a little- whatever i do needs a body for verification so my life insurance will pay out. i have friends listed as beneficiaries that could really use the money...as much as they would be mad at me, i have a decent policy that could really change some lives.

but yeah, i think about death on the daily. 

i’m not so much thinking about a way to die as much as just not being particularly attached to staying alive. 

it’s exhausting. it really is.

but i’m working on it. i’m changing jobs. the environment will be better, i’ll have benefits, and i’ll be able to walk to work. that’s a pretty good hat trick of mental health and self care.

real talk

ok. fine. i’ll talk about it.

this post has been wandering around my head for WEEKS but i’ve been too terrified to actually write it down. i keep SAYING don’t be afraid to talk about it. don’t be afraid to tell people. being afraid of it makes it worse. makes it stronger. so take that power back. get rid of that energy drain. don’t be afraid to reach out. don’t be afraid to be honest. don’t be afraid to talk about it. DON’T. BE. AFRAID.

and then the bloggess posted an article about talking about it (if you don’t know the bloggess, go find her). and there’s been some not so subtle signs from several corners of the universe kicking me, ever so gently with a steel toed boot, to write about it. talk about it. get the poison out. 

so. here we go.

trigger warning: this post is going to talk about suicide. REALLY. REALLY. talk about suicide. it’s ugly and real and honest. there’s no sugar coating, no tip-toeing, no delicately talking around the issue. it’s blunt. it’s me. the only way i know how to be. 

a few weeks ago i had a really shitty week at work. a really, really, incredibly shitty week at work. a week that made me feel like i am TERRIBLE at my job. and i’m not terrible at my job. i’m very very good at my job(s). it all ended up working out, mostly, but it was a BAD week. between a terrible client, being on hold for SEVEN hours with quickbooks- it was bad. it was absolutely, totally  wrecked, bad.

now, i’ve had bad work weeks before. i’m not perfect at my job, but after 20 damn years i’m pretty fucking good at it. then that week hit. and my work was the ONE THING i felt like i’ve been holding together the last year.

parenting: terrible

finances: terrible

friendships: terrible

relationships: terrible

but work. WORK. the one thing i’m good at. i’m fucking good at my job. the one piece i could hold together.

and that last little tiny toe hold felt like it was falling out from under me. the last piece of my maslow’s hierarchy was crumbling.

it was a bad week. a really bad week.

and i started making a plan. not the good kind. the kind that, looking back, makes me want to hug myself.

i started to make a plan to end my life.

i have to move in april, right? so what if instead of getting ready to move, i just get everything ready for...

i could have everything ready for my dad’s birthday. one last steak and whisky then...

fuck that’s scary to write. and it’s scary to feel.

so. that’s where i was. it was bad. it was ugly. it was dark. it hurt. it scared me. and i didn’t like it. i don’t like it.

i made it through the weekend, made it to the next week and then had another bump in the road when my teenager texted me for the first time since october. great? right? no. it was a huge long attack accusing me of abuse, again, telling me how horrible i am, again, and telling me he hoped i was sitting at home alone and miserable (and i was doing exactly that. ouch.). it was ugly. it hurt. it was completely out of the blue and unexpected. it made me realize that...it made me really realize how long that road is going to be. if he’s even open to getting help, if he is able to GET good help, i’m still not sure...

that’s a really long road. 

and i started thinking about suicide and my plan again. like. really thinking about it.

SO. OK. SELF. LET’S REALLY THINK ABOUT IT.

you think cleaning up your apartment, getting everything in order, having instructions, a plan...think that will all make it better?

survey says fuck off. steve did that. how well did that work out? did all his organizing and getting things lined up make it any better on the back end? did it make losing a brother hurt any less? or did it BREAK. YOUR. HEART. that no one saw it? that you didn’t see it? make you so angry that you didn’t talk to him more? that you didn’t know?

you’ve been in that exact spot. how did it feel? do you want someone else to know that feeling?

his apartment was nice and clean. cool. did that make emptying it out any less traumatic? do you remember how fucking endlessly long that day was? driving back and forth with dad for HOURS to find steve’s car in an impound lot? watching steve’s mother pack up things that belong to a son she’ll never see again? did it hurt any less to have to pack up all your brothers nicely organized things, but not knowing what to do with them? pieces of him- what do you do with it? why would you want to put your friends through that? or the apartment manger. or whomever gets stuck dealing with it. you know your brother wouldn’t have a clue. you couldn’t do that to someone. you couldn’t intentionally leave a shit storm behind. even a well organized one.

so. that bullshit part of the plan is out. what’s next?

oh, think how much good could come from your life insurance policy. yeah. because we all know my friends are the type to think some sort of payout is better than a friendship? you know your people better than that. they would literally practical magic your ass back to this realm just to kick it for even thinking that. nice try. next.

ok. how about: “you’re not supposed to worry about what other people think. you’re not supposed to base your decisions on the impact it will have on others. just worry about yourself first.” ok. let’s rip that thought apart: a) that’s not you. you know that. you think about other people. always have. probably too much. how things will affect them. will it hurt them? you need balance in that department. you’re working on that. be nice to yourself. but it will always be there. not caring at all is not the balance to always caring. find a middle ground. 2) you can’t intentionally inflict pain. you can’t passively inflict pain. it isn’t in you. maybe it’s narcissistic to think people would be sad if i was gone. they would be hurting. BUT I STILL THINK IT. and i don’t want to...i can’t knowingly be the reason people are sad. i don’t want to be the reason people hurt.

so that part is out.

so. how would you do it? seems stupid to not be an organ donor. you’re healthy. or at least have a majority good parts. pretty sure there’s not a way to make both happen. NO. FOR FUCKS SAKE. DON’T GOOGLE THAT.

so. you don’t even know that part.

so what part DO you know? you know you’re sad. you’re hurting. you’ve been through a major, unexpected, traumatic life change. and now your brain isn’t being friendly. ok. let’s work on that.

#1 call your therapist. DONE. back to weekly appointments.

#2 ok brain. we’re going to fucking figure this out. let’s get some mental health going. let’s get a plan together. a mental health care plan.

OH. SNAP.

replace the word mental with...heart. or kidney. or pancreas.

you make comprehensive health care plans for the rest of your body. parts that can heal themselves, maybe be replaced, maybe managed.

if your heart is an asshole they can do surgery or stints or bypasses or other things i’ve heard on greys anatomy but can’t remember. they’ll give you medication or treatment. they’ll 3d print you a new one. i saw it on tv. it must be real. 

if your kidney craps out they can transplant a new one. or medicate the crappy one.

low blood pressure? high blood pressure? diabetes? infection? break? sprain? medication. meditation. injections. cast. physical therapy. 

we do it for all other parts of the body and we’re not terribly embarrassed.

so why can’t we talk about the brain that way? why are we so embarrassed that brains might need help the same as a  kidney might? because we’re still scared of it? because we still don’t understand it? because there’s more questions than answers? it’s the most delicate, most important part of the whole meat factory. it’s the part that makes the rest work. it’s the breathing and the memories and the personality. its understanding. emotion. logic. it’s feeling and facts smashed together in one bone cage. we use a small percentage of its overall power and barely understand even that. it’s mysterious and unexplained. and yes, sometimes parts of it don’t work right. like any other part.

ok. so. let’s make a plan. and for fucks sake, can we please admit how serious this is and stick to a plan this time? this is more than just a bad day. a little bit of pms maybe. stop downplaying it and dismissing it as being dramatic or over reacting. this is literally a matter of life and death. you’re in a fight for your life right now. so time to get back on the right path. time to fight. ok? so what does that look like?

back to basics: vitamins, water, real meals, sleep. brain and body need good fuel to operate. it’s not that hard. just take the damn vitamins. it takes 2.3 seconds. drink the water. no, coffee doesn’t count. EAT. more than bread and hummus. real meals. protein. fats. carbs. vegetables. fruits. all that crap. pyramids and portions and whatever. all those pinterest recipes? that fancy new instapot? MAKE IT WORK. sleep? make it happen. turn off the tv. put down the damn phone. use essential oils. sleep sounds on alexa. smoke yourself to sleep. just SLEEP. have a bed time. stick to it. 

people: you need people. that means leaving your house. so make a schedule. no. a schedule isn’t dumb. it’s practical. people have entire meetings for schedules. tuesday, thursday and sunday can be gym day. yes, the gym is damn near the worst place on earth but it’s $10 a month. it’s out of the house. and it’s healthy or whatever. go walk on a damn treadmill for an hour and listen to music. or podcasts. for fucks sake, you can even watch netflix on your phone on the treadmill. no excuses now. whisky wednesday. do that. you love your bar. you love the people there. you’re comfortable there. go there. friday nights and monday nights you can clean and get all the chores done. yes 2 days for cleaning is plenty. quit being so picky. sheesh. saturday’s GO OUT. find a book reading. a concert. anything. a comedy show. a movie. OUT. get out. netflix will still be there when you get home.

ok. what about *actual* people. like, ones you actually talk to. you can ask them to help without making them responsible for you. simple things. it’s not their job to keep you healthy. it is your job to reach out. they can say no if they’re overwhelmed or uncomfortable and that’s ok.

ok. so you need to TALK. find one person and ask them to check in every few days. have conversations. talk about things. talk through things. talk about nothing. just. talk.

ok. so you need to be real and work on that balance of not worrying what people think. practice being REAL. ok. sounds stupid. but ask one friend to hold your toes to the fire to post REAL, unfiltered snapchat pictures. walking stella on a saturday in mismatched jammies with no bra on, glasses, retainer, no make up and bundled up for winter. it’s real. so show it. to more than your neighbors. be a real person. no one has run away screaming yet. BE. REAL.

ok. so, the gym. fuck i hate the gym. but ask someone that goes ALL THE TIME to bug you if you haven’t mentioned it in a few days. you can check in from the treadmill and so can they.

and remember, this is not THEIR responsibility. it’s YOURS. you take the vitamins. you do the work. you reach out. this is YOUR mental health care plan.

and i’ve been doing it. it’s been a few weeks. it’s hard. as. fuck. but i’m worth it. that’s a big statement for me. i’m worth it. i can say that now and mostly believe it. that’s progress. i’ve been doing the things i need to do. ive been holding myself accountable. i’ve been kind when i’ve missed one bit. i’ve allowed room for imperfection without abandoning the whole plan. that’s progress. that’s huge progress.

suicide is scary y’all. it’s not the first time it’s wandered across my brain but  it is the first time it tried to really settle in and make itself at home in my thoughts. and i’ll tell you what. i did not care for that one bit.

so i’m working on changing it friends. i’m finding ways to make sure those thoughts know they’re not welcome. making sure they don’t get comfortable hanging out. i’m working on changing the negative thought patterns. i’m working on building safety checks. i’m working on LIKING myself. i have 38 years of really, really hating myself to learn to undo. it may be a pendulum effect, please bear with me if i become an egotistical asshole for a minute. i’ll find the balance. i have to find the balance.

i’ll get there. that was a shitty week. wasn’t my first, and i know it won’t be my last. i’m making sure of it. i’m here to fight. i’m in this for the long haul. good bad, bumps and bruises, i’m sticking around. 

and that starts with not being afraid. being able to talk. not being ashamed. not hiding. not giving myself another reason to hate myself. 

if you need help, it is scary. i won’t lie. but there’s help out there. there people and resources. REACH. OUT. just beyond that dark shadow there’s help. whatever you’re going through, it’s a shitty week. sometimes that shitty week feels 20 years long. sometimes it’s one really bad day. and i don’t know if it gets better. i decided to make a change and fight for myself but that doesn’t mean i suddenly woke up to woodland creatures cleaning my house and rainbows shooting out my ass. i’m sure it will get better, and even if that takes a while, i’m tough. i’ve seen some shit y’all. i’ve been through some pretty hard moments. and i’m still here. so i got this. if i made it through 2009 and 2010 i can make it through 2019. 

if you need help, REACH. OUT.

find a friend. find a neighbor. most jobs have an employee assistance program. if you’re too scared to talk to a friend, if you’re struggling with embarrassment, TALK TO A STRANGER. there’s a reason “the comfort of a stranger” is a real thing. so make a call. 

call: 1-800-273-8255 24 hours a day. literally ANY. TIME. there’s someone there to talk to. there’s someone there in spanish. there’s someone there for hard of hearing. there’s someone there on text if talking saying the words out loud is too hard today (text 741741). because that’s a real thing too and it’s ok. 

YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE SUICIDAL TO CALL FOR HELP. bad day and just need someone to talk to? they’re there. have a friend that you want to help? they can help you find ways to gently help.

it’s not weak. it’s not failure. it’s HARD. AS. FUCK. to ask for help. it’s hard as fuck to say some of the painful stuff your brain thinks up. it’s hard as fuck to choose not to believe the negative. it’s hard as fuck to fight to make things better. it’s not weakness. it’s not failure. EVERYONE. and i do mean EVERY. SINGLE. PERSON. ON. EARTH. has bad days. don’t believe the social media hi-light reels. EVERYONE. EVERYONE has bad days. and no two bad days are the same.

suicide isn’t the answer. it really, really isn’t. my brother took his own life. he planned, arranged, tried to make it ok. i can tell you there’s no “good” way to leave people behind. there is nothing ok about being on the other side. i know it didn’t solve a single damn one of the problems he was fighting. suicide likes to pretend it’s a good solution. it like to slide up next to you and lie it’s face off about how much better it will make thing. THAT’S A LIE. it doesn’t make anything better. it’s just- stops everything. your life is your story. want it to have a good ending? maybe even a happy ending? maybe even a fairytale ending? then you can’t stop it right in the middle of the bad part. sleeping beauty would have been a shit story if it was just like- oh. she’s sleeping. the end. harry potter would have been terrible if he had just been like- I DON’T KNOW. confession: i never read the books. but i’m 100% sure based on the movies if he’d been like- oh. this teacher is mean and quit it would have been a shitty, shitty story.

i’m going to make my story good. i’m going to try my damndest to give it a good ending, in 60 or so years. that’s a lot of pages left to write. this is just a dark chapter in the middle. this is just a storyline arc, not the denouement.