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Depression...
Mar. 20th, 2005 08:30 am
Friday night I was sitting at work when I started thinking about my Ambien prescription, seriously wondering what would happen if I took the whole bottle. Would I puke before it knocked me out? Would my body even try to expel the little white pills or would it accept them as easily as sunflower seeds?
I felt like a 14-year old w/angst. I kind of still do. Knowing that it would only bother one person in my life if I actually did kill myself. (Of course, I had to tell Rob, "You know, you're the only person it would destroy if I offed myself" just because I knew it would upset him. Yes, I am that mean, and I am getting bad Karma for it just for snickering about it while I type). It would be a relatively easy suicide if my guts didn't betray me... Rob is usually afraid to wake me up, even after my alarm goes off. I could probably even run a hot bath & die in the tub & he'd only wonder what happened after 2 - 4 hrs. had gone by w/out eventually hearing the shower. He'd come in & I'd be a pasty white floater.
I'm just really tired right now of the purposelessness of my life. I have no ambitions, no goals, no aims. I go to work, I come home, I care for the house and that's it. There is nothing grander in my world. And my life is going to be like this until I die... so why put it off? Knowing that the next 30 years will be much like the last 30 years isn't a real pleasant concept. I should have stayed a drunk, should have started exploring the 'Doors of Perception', gone off to live in the desert on tequila & the flesh of the gods - at least then my angst would have poetry to it. Without the tequila & the desperation, it's just me whining because I'm bored with the American dream.
But Friday night it swept over me in its usual fashion, a great cold dark wave... Washing away whatever mirth or laughter may have been in my head & replacing it with the hard truth that I am still depressed and still have to fight through it. The wanting to sob is the worst because nothing is there. There is still a grand amount of curiosity mingled with the depression. What would it be like to truly die, to not be yanked back at the last moments. What is it like to choose one's own death, to make the conscious decision to end one's own life? Wondering if Rob will actually let BodyWorlds have me or if my flesh will end up charred to ashes & packed in a little jar somewhere... To know that dissolution of all that is 'me', all that is 'Janelle F., nee Smith', all 31 years, all 240lbs. of me-ness that sits here in this chair, nodding off to the one Ambien I took.
Happy Ostara, everyone, happy First Day of Spring.
I felt like a 14-year old w/angst. I kind of still do. Knowing that it would only bother one person in my life if I actually did kill myself. (Of course, I had to tell Rob, "You know, you're the only person it would destroy if I offed myself" just because I knew it would upset him. Yes, I am that mean, and I am getting bad Karma for it just for snickering about it while I type). It would be a relatively easy suicide if my guts didn't betray me... Rob is usually afraid to wake me up, even after my alarm goes off. I could probably even run a hot bath & die in the tub & he'd only wonder what happened after 2 - 4 hrs. had gone by w/out eventually hearing the shower. He'd come in & I'd be a pasty white floater.
I'm just really tired right now of the purposelessness of my life. I have no ambitions, no goals, no aims. I go to work, I come home, I care for the house and that's it. There is nothing grander in my world. And my life is going to be like this until I die... so why put it off? Knowing that the next 30 years will be much like the last 30 years isn't a real pleasant concept. I should have stayed a drunk, should have started exploring the 'Doors of Perception', gone off to live in the desert on tequila & the flesh of the gods - at least then my angst would have poetry to it. Without the tequila & the desperation, it's just me whining because I'm bored with the American dream.
But Friday night it swept over me in its usual fashion, a great cold dark wave... Washing away whatever mirth or laughter may have been in my head & replacing it with the hard truth that I am still depressed and still have to fight through it. The wanting to sob is the worst because nothing is there. There is still a grand amount of curiosity mingled with the depression. What would it be like to truly die, to not be yanked back at the last moments. What is it like to choose one's own death, to make the conscious decision to end one's own life? Wondering if Rob will actually let BodyWorlds have me or if my flesh will end up charred to ashes & packed in a little jar somewhere... To know that dissolution of all that is 'me', all that is 'Janelle F., nee Smith', all 31 years, all 240lbs. of me-ness that sits here in this chair, nodding off to the one Ambien I took.
Happy Ostara, everyone, happy First Day of Spring.
