So it goes.
A very large part of me just wants to give the fuck up. When I look at all the phone calls and pushing and red tape and lawyers and the sheer number of spoons I'd have to expend every day to negotiate the bureaucracy of getting things like Section 8 Housing or disability income, let alone the constant slap in the face that is the job search, it's more than my brain can handle without crashing and rebooting.
A very large part of me just wants to sit on my arse and see what happens. Lose my home and everything I own? Give up my cats? Sure, whatever. I just want things to get THE WORST THEY POSSIBLY CAN so I don't have to worry about things getting worse than that. Do you see what I mean? Giving the fuck up.
A very large part of that is the hard fact that thinking about having to give up my "stuff" and find a place for my cats and downgrade my entire life to almost nothing is EXTREMELY TRIGGERING for me. When I start looking at Craigslist to see what other people are selling, and seeing how little they're asking and not getting, and realizing I'd have to sell the beautiful furniture I've spent over a decade collecting for a pittance, and nobody wants my comic books even though some of them are unavailable classics going back to the 1980s, and other things like that... when I think that I'd have to give away my cats which are truly some of the few things left in life that give me unmitigated joy... it starts a dangerous downward spiral of thought and mood. I start thinking, hell, I'll just start giving things away to my friends and start making a mental list of what I'd give to each person, and I imagine my life shrinking and emptying down to pretty much nothing... and that starts me thinking about materialism and how I shouldn't get so invested in "stuff", and that starts me on meditation toward detachment from the physical world...
Giving your stuff to loved ones is a common symptom of suicidal ideation, and it's one of my personal big red flashing warning signs. Even my shrink, when I told her about my current circumstances, was firmly like, "NO. Do NOT think about getting rid of your possessions, especially your cats. Do NOT start giving things away." But I told her, what the fuck else am I supposed to do? And she said there's always hope. I said I'm done with hope, I've used it all up. Every time I try to be optimistic I get kicked in the face. Besides, hope is hell; I read it once in Sandman that the worst part of being a soul in hell is dreaming of heaven, and I agree with this completely. I can't handle my life at all unless I resign myself to "well, this is the way it is, and this is the way it's going to be from now on." That gets me depressed, and hoping for better days gets me depressed. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.
Spoons are gone, brain is crashed, can't think about my future, gone completely numb. This is like BEYOND depression, and again, a very dangerous sign.
So it goes.
This entry was originally posted at http://spiderine.dreamwidth.org/490428.html. There are
comments over there. I've disabled LJ's Facebook and Twitter cross-posting idiocy as much as I can, but if you're especially concerned, feel free to comment there.
A very large part of me just wants to sit on my arse and see what happens. Lose my home and everything I own? Give up my cats? Sure, whatever. I just want things to get THE WORST THEY POSSIBLY CAN so I don't have to worry about things getting worse than that. Do you see what I mean? Giving the fuck up.
A very large part of that is the hard fact that thinking about having to give up my "stuff" and find a place for my cats and downgrade my entire life to almost nothing is EXTREMELY TRIGGERING for me. When I start looking at Craigslist to see what other people are selling, and seeing how little they're asking and not getting, and realizing I'd have to sell the beautiful furniture I've spent over a decade collecting for a pittance, and nobody wants my comic books even though some of them are unavailable classics going back to the 1980s, and other things like that... when I think that I'd have to give away my cats which are truly some of the few things left in life that give me unmitigated joy... it starts a dangerous downward spiral of thought and mood. I start thinking, hell, I'll just start giving things away to my friends and start making a mental list of what I'd give to each person, and I imagine my life shrinking and emptying down to pretty much nothing... and that starts me thinking about materialism and how I shouldn't get so invested in "stuff", and that starts me on meditation toward detachment from the physical world...
Giving your stuff to loved ones is a common symptom of suicidal ideation, and it's one of my personal big red flashing warning signs. Even my shrink, when I told her about my current circumstances, was firmly like, "NO. Do NOT think about getting rid of your possessions, especially your cats. Do NOT start giving things away." But I told her, what the fuck else am I supposed to do? And she said there's always hope. I said I'm done with hope, I've used it all up. Every time I try to be optimistic I get kicked in the face. Besides, hope is hell; I read it once in Sandman that the worst part of being a soul in hell is dreaming of heaven, and I agree with this completely. I can't handle my life at all unless I resign myself to "well, this is the way it is, and this is the way it's going to be from now on." That gets me depressed, and hoping for better days gets me depressed. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.
Spoons are gone, brain is crashed, can't think about my future, gone completely numb. This is like BEYOND depression, and again, a very dangerous sign.
So it goes.
This entry was originally posted at http://spiderine.dreamwidth.org/490428.html. There are
comments over there. I've disabled LJ's Facebook and Twitter cross-posting idiocy as much as I can, but if you're especially concerned, feel free to comment there.