This morning I berated myself for breaking promises I make to myself.  I promised myself quite a while back, several times,in writing that I would commit suicide if I ever returned to binge eating.

I am still alive, and pissed that I never seem to commit myself to anything at all.  The number of unfinished projects lined up is staggering.  Just take one look at the mess in my apartment and you can see one huge example of postponement, lack of motivation, procrastination, and a reflection of the fact that my entire life is in ruins.

So this morning, I said to myself, “This is it.  I’m going to do it, or do something else drastic.”

For a few weeks I’ve been going to sites all the time trying to find the best way.  Obviously, the people who could write “suicide success stories” are now dead and cannot write these stories or post tips and tricks.  People post on Yahoo! Answers now and then questions about “how to,” and are inundated with reasons why they should not do it.  If you Google this question and click on the links, you will be redirected to suicide prevention sites.

And yet when you read about people like Virginia Woolf or David Foster Wallace, people seem to think it was okay that they committed suicide because they had suffered long enough.  I suppose it’s silly for me to put myself in the same category with such brilliant writers, but I think I’m suffering, too, and at the end of my rope.

For a couple of years, I’ve spent time and energy creating scenarios, bits of dialogue, stuff folks might say about me if I died.  Of course, people will make every effort in their power to put me out of their minds as quickly as possible.  Actually, this is happening right now, while I’m alive, isn’t it?  People purging their lives of “negative people,” myself among them.

It is becoming a bigger and bigger struggle to be polite, sweet, and kind in public.  The image of that quiet girl in Apartment __ is turning into a picture of a nasty, hostile crazy lady.  You could say that I’m rather shocked, because I am such a proponent of good manners, believing that this is the most important thing you can teach a child, for instance.

It’s very easy to teach a child to say “Please” and “Thank you.”  Saying these things at appropriate times will get you a long way in this world.  Plus it elevates self-esteem to be polite to others, and gives a feeling of self-worth and self-respect.  Helping a person in need instead of walking on by…this, too, is a good thing to do.   Picking up after yourself.  Being an accepting friend.  Sharing.  If I had a kid, I’d teach him or her these things, I think.  The basics.

And yet, I have thrown all my manners out the window, my standards of cleanliness, a lot of common sense stuff like sleeping…it’s all gone now.

I don’t think it matters whether I choose to be like this.  I’ve been driven to it.  The amount of effort I’m putting into fighting back is nil.

Well, no, I do go to acupuncture, I have shown up at church lately, I have occasionally put forth effort to find a therapist.  These things are supposed to mean something.

Joe always said I was resilient.  I truly appreciate this compliment now more than ever.  Wish he were alive so I could tell him that.

Doctors have told me that my heart, as a set of muscles, is very, very strong, and that’s probably why I made it through the past year.  I’ve been brutal to all my organs, particularly my kidneys, but nothing seems to hurt in terms of my insides, no sharp pain, nothing’s ruptured or anything.  Just these freaking headaches.

I sleep at random.  When I wake up, I’ve got no clue whether it’s night or day, or what day it is, or whether what I dreamed was real.  It’s all just kind of a spacy nether-world.

I’ve tried to will my heart to stop.  It doesn’t work.  I wonder if I could use biofeedback techniques to accomplish this.

Last time I was lying on the acupuncture table, I felt like I was going to stop breathing entirely.  I felt like I was drifting off somewhere.  I “came to” with a start.  I inhaled.  I was back on the table again, right where I’d been lying.  I wonder what that was.  It happened twice during the last session.  I’ve fallen asleep on the table, of course, which is a common occurrence.  This was different.

I’d like to step out of my body, and leave it behind.  Just walk off, and say goodbye, or maybe not say anything.  I’m sure it would be a big relief, maybe not just for me, but for a lot of people that see me as a burden.  I guess, though, I wouldn’t be relieved, or shall I say, I wouldn’t be alive to feel it.

I suppose I’m going way out on a limb by writing this.

If you can identify with what I’m going through, I don’t have any particular advice.

“She was only 54.  Too young to die.”

“Where was her family?  Why didn’t they do something?  Didn’t they care?”

“Such talent gone to waste.”

Anyway, for whatever reason, the DMH suddenly discovered that yes, I’m on their rosters.  And no, they were clueless all along due to negligence on the part of my worker.  She stopped coming.  I hear bits and pieces of her being on “sick leave,” and yet the boss guy was surprised that she hadn’t seen me since December, the day she suddenly announced that she was going on a six-week vacation.  She made hints that international travel made her ill, and hinted that she’d be sick when she came back…like she was planning this.  She was due to return January 20 and show up here.  I cleaned the place, and waited.  No show.  Next week, no show.  Next week, I was in bed and miserable.  I blew her off, telling her I had a cold.  She didn’t ask how I was doing or anything, just hung up the phone in her customary manner, that is, click, her voice trailing off, without saying the word “goodbye.”  I don’t think she once ended a phone conversation with “goodbye.”  The line would just go dead.

So over the past week, I’ve met with the boss guy twice.  I was honest, and said that J never did her job, was always late, and often didn’t show at all.  At first, this was an inconvenience to me.  Now, I realize that her being irresponsible like that was a serious thing.

I have a new worker.  The boss guy said he wanted his best person working on my case now.  He said she was the best.  She came Monday, and to my dismay kept on saying that she was “interim,” maybe only for a few weeks.  I’m kinda shocked, because the boss guy sounded like he was going to do right by me and really put forth an effort on my behalf by assigning this specific person to me.  Not only that, but this person emphasized that she doesn’t really have room on her schedule for me.  We made another appointment, but not for another two weeks.  Geez.  I feel betrayed, to say the least.

So anyway, let it go on record that this is a case of gross negligence on the part of DMH.  The boss guy was apologetic about what had been going on with J, and said it shouldn’t have happened.  But now what?  Am I still invisible?

I used to think that if I died on a Friday night, and J called Saturday, the day she was supposed to show up, to let her know she was on her way, and it turned out I did not respond…I assumed she would get to the bottom of it, and my death would be discovered very quickly.  So they’d get the body out of here and get some assistance for Puzzle.  I was under this false impression that she actually gave a shit about her job.

How long would my body have been rotting here?

What do I do now?  After I’m dead, I can’t just call someone and say, “Hey, I’m dead, send the coroner.”

You bet I’ve thought of putting e-mails on a timer, or posting some sort of statement in my blog here, and setting that to post well after I’m dead and there’s nothing anyone can do.  I was thinking about that this morning while walking Puzzle.  Actually, I obsess about this suicide stuff nonstop.

There’s nothing anyone can do, either.  Just throw your arms into the air.  Say a prayer or something.  Or wash your hands clean of me and put me out of your mind, for your own sanity’s sake.


Feedback and comments welcome!