Warning: Here there be darkness. It’s the ramblings of the depressed and mean little to nothing except that I need to get it out.
I’m going down like Artax, folks, but nobody’s even trying to pull me out. (OK, that was a Never Ending Story reference, highlighting both the fact that I’m a dork and also that even as an adult I watch hokey children’s fantasy movies from the 80’s. Who am I kidding The Never Ending Story was wicked bad-ass.)
But, yes, I am still The Depressed. I cried all day at work. I considered running my car off the road on my way home. But, that would be too hard for family to deal with (and is also how G’s Dad killed himself, and it didn’t work out well, ended up being a long drawn out affair) so couldn’t do it. Before you go freaking out, I’m not really “suicidal.” I don’t want to “die.” I just don’t want to live this life anymore. I don’t want to be the mother of dead children. I don’t want to be responsible for making sure other people’s shit gets taken care of. I don’t want to be a programmer. I don’t want to be roughly the size of a young whale. I’m tired of giving and giving and giving and giving and getting jack fucking nothing in return. But, I can’t even plan a fake suicide properly, as it would be too hard for other people to deal with. I wouldn’t want G and Big C carrying that weight for the rest of their lives. Although, maybe it’d be better for G. He could finally bag that fertile porn star who can cook, doesn’t have an opinion on anything important and likes hairy men. ARGH!
Don’t get me wrong, the whole situation with G is my fault. I don’t talk about how I’m feeling because I don’t want to upset him. I don’t ask him to help because he works hard, too. I don’t ever explicitly tell him that I’m feeling rather run down and used and need a fucking break and to be treated like I’m more than a means to satisfaction. Of course, the reason I don’t say these things, is because I don’t feel I should have to. I think if you really love your wife, and she comes in from wailing crying in her car and has obviously been crying all day, the natural response should be something like *hug* “let me make you some tea, or a stiff drink, while you put on your jammies. Wanna watch Twilight or one of your movies? I’ll order pizza/make dinner.” Not “hey babe what’s on the menu tonight? Cuban hash, what’s that, what’s in it? I don’t know if that sounds good… No, I don’t want to help.” (Then after wolfing down two bowls, “yeah that was good.”)
Yes, that’s where my head is right now. I’m feeling fuckitall, with a dash of whybother. But, I have to suck it up and go to work and pretend everything’s OK. I did tell a couple of people yesterday, that it was getting really close to my due date (because they called and I couldn’t cover up the crying fast enough), so maybe they’ll at least be understanding if I don’t leave my office and don’t answer my phone all day. I should stay home, but I can’t. I talked my boss into hiring one of my friends from high school for a project and it’s in the thick right now, so I don’t show up it’ll be hell for the next week how I set back the project by having to take a personal day.