Sargasm
Compassion makes the world go 'round.
- Jun 19, 2019
- 103
Hey everyone. I just need to vent a little bit. Feel free to commiserate, or ignore. I'm just frustrated and depressed and maybe a little bitter. This is kind of stream-of-consciousness writing (like everything else I write now because I can't plan for shit anymore), so it is probably going to be a bit disjointed. The usual apologies in advance.
Since I was 16, I have always had a job. It was something I took a lot of pride in. It was always easy for me to find a job when I needed one. Send out some applications, field the callbacks, nail the interviews, pick the job I want, and get to work.
That was before I moved back to fucking Florida. The land of swamp-ass, mosquitoes, and jobs you can only get if you have an insider hookup. Sure, it has some nice features as well, but that's not what I'm focused on right now.
Over the past few months, I have submitted over 100 applications. How many callbacks? Four. Three of those, they chose someone else. The fourth offered me the job, but I declined it when I noticed several red flags during the interview that management would be abusive and psychotic about micromanaging the employees. As much as I need a job, being in that environment would put me in a constant anxiety attack, and I'm barely hanging on by a thread as it is. But now, I'm starting to think I should have just taken the job and suffered.
If I can kiss my own ass for a moment, I have a solid resume for the jobs I applied for with several years of experience, no criminal record whatsoever, and as unhappy as I am about it, I can pass any drug test you put in front of me. It's kind of fucked up that I would be much more productive (and dare I say, happy) on the job hunt if I could smoke weed to manage my mental dysfunctions, yet I need to stay clean to actually get the job. Sure, plenty of people have sneaky ways of beating drug tests, but luck has not been on my side in a long time. I'm pretty sure it's standing across the street giving me the middle finger while smoking a blunt just to really twist the knife.
I don't know what happened. Well, maybe I kinda do. I'm not the confident young ass-kicker I used to be. I used to be able to bullshit with the best of them. Now I can barely hold a conversation. Hell, I can barely pretend to be interested in what the other person is saying. It's not out of rudeness or contempt for them, it's just that all of my focus is on not letting the mental illness show, and I know I need to get out of there before the mask drops. Even when I wasn't confident in the past, I could always fake it, and that opened a lot of doors for me. But I can't even fake it anymore. The best I can do is hope that I don't look like a complete fuckup. Considering my current situation, I guess that hope was in vain. Another problem I suspect that I have is that I am no longer the young guy that is really good at his job; I am the mid-30s guy who just needs a job but is overqualified for anything that isn't a position within an already-established career. I lost my career momentum, and now that I am just trying to get an entry-level job for the sake of income, it's like running into a brick wall repeatedly while hoping for a different result each time. Yesterday I got an email presenting hours and rate of pay to see if I was interested. I immediately emailed back saying I was very interested and wanted to schedule an interview. Never heard back until I called today to be told that someone else had been chosen. They never interviewed me, never called references, so I really don't know why they even bothered to contact me in the first place except to add one more stone to the mountain of failure that is crushing me. Sure, there's probably a reasonable explanation, but it doesn't help me one bit.
In the interest of maintaining perspective, let me say that I am extremely lucky to have parents and siblings that love me and are incredibly supportive. As bitchy as I am right now, I will always acknowledge and appreciate them for being truly good people. They know about my illnesses, my divorce, my mental breakdown(s), and my life completely falling apart, and they have poured their hearts (and wallets) out to help me. I haven't been able to function or support myself for the past couple years, but they have carried me when I can't carry myself. Reading some of the personal stories here makes me appreciate them even more, because my family absolutely refuses to let me starve or end up homeless. We may be dysfunctional as hell, but if someone needs help, we help them as much as we can.
As my depression, anxiety, and C-PTSD kept getting worse, I had always looked for reasons to hold on, to keep going, and my family was always the unbreakable reason that I couldn't give up on. When I truly accepted that I wasn't going to get better, and that suicide had became my only option before things become so bad that I have to worry about getting Baker Act-ed into a mental institution, I began the mental and emotional process of letting go of my family. I can't even begin to describe the pain of intentionally rejecting the people who would never give up on me. When I reached the point where I had truly let go, it broke my fucking heart, so much worse than it had been broken in the past. And please don't misunderstand about my family potentially having me committed: I know that they would do it out of love and compassion to protect me and hopefully help me get better, but it's too late for me. I have not chosen to commit suicide because of some temporary crisis that can be overcome. The crisis is who I am as a person, the mental illnesses that only get worse, and the life of pain, fear, and sadness that the mental illnesses bring every second of every day. Even if these problems could be managed to a functional level, there is nothing left of me. Nothing left of me to save, because depression destroyed even my memory of who that person was. I am just a ghost haunting the people who love me, and it is time for me to go.
Look, I know that there isn't some grand conspiracy to ruin my life and make me miserable. I am where I am because of mental illness and poor decisions that have resulted in a life that I believe is unbearable to continue. I consider myself to be an apathetic Agnostic (I don't know and I don't care), but on the off-chance that I die and discover that there is a higher power that has purposefully determined my life to be this way without regard for mercy and compassion, we will have that conversation when the time comes. Trust me, you will hear it. The cops will be probably get called.
But don't worry, I'll put in a good word for you.
This is not a goodbye thread, but just if you don't see me around for more than seven days, crisis collided with impulse, I chose the gun, 9mm JHP behind the right ear, and I am at peace. I wanted the income for a better method and to leave something for my family, but it doesn't look like that is going to happen. What I feel now makes my suicidal feelings in the past seem like I was just pretending before. Like having the choice to commit suicide in the past was just a teddy bear to comfort me through painful times because I knew I wouldn't have to endure if things got bad enough. Things got bad enough, and the choice is very close to being made. I am so fucking sick of crying all the time.
I will continue to dick around with the job hunt like anything is actually going to change, and I am going to pet my dog and give her extra cookies and let her run around the yard and chase the squirrels. I am going to hug my parents and tell them I love them. I am going to finally finish my suicide note that was too painful before. And then I am going to let the clock run out. I don't know exactly when it will be, but the hollow point is chambered. If by some twisted psychotic miracle I do land a job before it happens, I may buy myself a little more time to use SN the right way, but I have stopped hoping. I am exhausted, and life has repeatedly shown me that hope is a luxury that I cannot afford.
Anyway, I know this got weird and jumped around through tones and topics as I was writing it, but if you've read this far, thank you, and whatever choices you make and paths you follow, I hope you find peace. I'll still be around until I'm not. I realize that I am not exactly a social butterfly around here, but this is the only place that I can be truly honest, and I am very grateful that this place exists.
Since I was 16, I have always had a job. It was something I took a lot of pride in. It was always easy for me to find a job when I needed one. Send out some applications, field the callbacks, nail the interviews, pick the job I want, and get to work.
That was before I moved back to fucking Florida. The land of swamp-ass, mosquitoes, and jobs you can only get if you have an insider hookup. Sure, it has some nice features as well, but that's not what I'm focused on right now.
Over the past few months, I have submitted over 100 applications. How many callbacks? Four. Three of those, they chose someone else. The fourth offered me the job, but I declined it when I noticed several red flags during the interview that management would be abusive and psychotic about micromanaging the employees. As much as I need a job, being in that environment would put me in a constant anxiety attack, and I'm barely hanging on by a thread as it is. But now, I'm starting to think I should have just taken the job and suffered.
If I can kiss my own ass for a moment, I have a solid resume for the jobs I applied for with several years of experience, no criminal record whatsoever, and as unhappy as I am about it, I can pass any drug test you put in front of me. It's kind of fucked up that I would be much more productive (and dare I say, happy) on the job hunt if I could smoke weed to manage my mental dysfunctions, yet I need to stay clean to actually get the job. Sure, plenty of people have sneaky ways of beating drug tests, but luck has not been on my side in a long time. I'm pretty sure it's standing across the street giving me the middle finger while smoking a blunt just to really twist the knife.
I don't know what happened. Well, maybe I kinda do. I'm not the confident young ass-kicker I used to be. I used to be able to bullshit with the best of them. Now I can barely hold a conversation. Hell, I can barely pretend to be interested in what the other person is saying. It's not out of rudeness or contempt for them, it's just that all of my focus is on not letting the mental illness show, and I know I need to get out of there before the mask drops. Even when I wasn't confident in the past, I could always fake it, and that opened a lot of doors for me. But I can't even fake it anymore. The best I can do is hope that I don't look like a complete fuckup. Considering my current situation, I guess that hope was in vain. Another problem I suspect that I have is that I am no longer the young guy that is really good at his job; I am the mid-30s guy who just needs a job but is overqualified for anything that isn't a position within an already-established career. I lost my career momentum, and now that I am just trying to get an entry-level job for the sake of income, it's like running into a brick wall repeatedly while hoping for a different result each time. Yesterday I got an email presenting hours and rate of pay to see if I was interested. I immediately emailed back saying I was very interested and wanted to schedule an interview. Never heard back until I called today to be told that someone else had been chosen. They never interviewed me, never called references, so I really don't know why they even bothered to contact me in the first place except to add one more stone to the mountain of failure that is crushing me. Sure, there's probably a reasonable explanation, but it doesn't help me one bit.
In the interest of maintaining perspective, let me say that I am extremely lucky to have parents and siblings that love me and are incredibly supportive. As bitchy as I am right now, I will always acknowledge and appreciate them for being truly good people. They know about my illnesses, my divorce, my mental breakdown(s), and my life completely falling apart, and they have poured their hearts (and wallets) out to help me. I haven't been able to function or support myself for the past couple years, but they have carried me when I can't carry myself. Reading some of the personal stories here makes me appreciate them even more, because my family absolutely refuses to let me starve or end up homeless. We may be dysfunctional as hell, but if someone needs help, we help them as much as we can.
As my depression, anxiety, and C-PTSD kept getting worse, I had always looked for reasons to hold on, to keep going, and my family was always the unbreakable reason that I couldn't give up on. When I truly accepted that I wasn't going to get better, and that suicide had became my only option before things become so bad that I have to worry about getting Baker Act-ed into a mental institution, I began the mental and emotional process of letting go of my family. I can't even begin to describe the pain of intentionally rejecting the people who would never give up on me. When I reached the point where I had truly let go, it broke my fucking heart, so much worse than it had been broken in the past. And please don't misunderstand about my family potentially having me committed: I know that they would do it out of love and compassion to protect me and hopefully help me get better, but it's too late for me. I have not chosen to commit suicide because of some temporary crisis that can be overcome. The crisis is who I am as a person, the mental illnesses that only get worse, and the life of pain, fear, and sadness that the mental illnesses bring every second of every day. Even if these problems could be managed to a functional level, there is nothing left of me. Nothing left of me to save, because depression destroyed even my memory of who that person was. I am just a ghost haunting the people who love me, and it is time for me to go.
Look, I know that there isn't some grand conspiracy to ruin my life and make me miserable. I am where I am because of mental illness and poor decisions that have resulted in a life that I believe is unbearable to continue. I consider myself to be an apathetic Agnostic (I don't know and I don't care), but on the off-chance that I die and discover that there is a higher power that has purposefully determined my life to be this way without regard for mercy and compassion, we will have that conversation when the time comes. Trust me, you will hear it. The cops will be probably get called.
But don't worry, I'll put in a good word for you.
This is not a goodbye thread, but just if you don't see me around for more than seven days, crisis collided with impulse, I chose the gun, 9mm JHP behind the right ear, and I am at peace. I wanted the income for a better method and to leave something for my family, but it doesn't look like that is going to happen. What I feel now makes my suicidal feelings in the past seem like I was just pretending before. Like having the choice to commit suicide in the past was just a teddy bear to comfort me through painful times because I knew I wouldn't have to endure if things got bad enough. Things got bad enough, and the choice is very close to being made. I am so fucking sick of crying all the time.
I will continue to dick around with the job hunt like anything is actually going to change, and I am going to pet my dog and give her extra cookies and let her run around the yard and chase the squirrels. I am going to hug my parents and tell them I love them. I am going to finally finish my suicide note that was too painful before. And then I am going to let the clock run out. I don't know exactly when it will be, but the hollow point is chambered. If by some twisted psychotic miracle I do land a job before it happens, I may buy myself a little more time to use SN the right way, but I have stopped hoping. I am exhausted, and life has repeatedly shown me that hope is a luxury that I cannot afford.
Anyway, I know this got weird and jumped around through tones and topics as I was writing it, but if you've read this far, thank you, and whatever choices you make and paths you follow, I hope you find peace. I'll still be around until I'm not. I realize that I am not exactly a social butterfly around here, but this is the only place that I can be truly honest, and I am very grateful that this place exists.
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