Fighting It

I am severely depressed. I know this. But I am fighting it. I don't want to be depressed. I don't want to sleep all day, stay up all night, take a nap, sleep some more, eat some crap, then go back to bed.

Most days I manage to succeed--although the sleeping is still a problem, obviously. I mean, I'm typing this at 2:30am--even if I get up late, I still manage to pull myself together and act as if, go through the motions, of being a regular, normal person.

Today wasn't one of those days. I have been suffering from increasing anxiety. Today and one other day, it was paralyzing. It's really not just anxiety, but overwhelming fear. I become afraid of leaving the house, the room, or just getting out of a chair. Today was awful.There was much sleeping and avoidance behaviors involved. Avoiding things that made me scared. I believe part of this stems from my anti-anxiety medication going unfilled due to a snafu between my doctor's office and the pharmacy, and I just picked it up at 8pm tonight. It causes drowsiness, so despite wanting to take one in the car, I resisted. I'll take it when I get in bed, shortly. It's possible the anxiety is extra high because I'm detoxing from this "ID required" pharmaceutical. It's not a triplicate, but it is a Schedule IV Controlled Substance.

So despite fighting hard, and most days getting "through it," some days are just shit. Like today. I did nothing of worth except go to the pharmacy. I did no work, I did no household chores, I did no laundry, I didn't shower. I did put on clothes, including a bra and some light makeup, to go to the pharmacy, but my hair went into a ponytail, unwashed.

I'm hoping for more tomorrow. This is really crippling, and really pisses me off.

Breaking

This is a blog post I wrote on November 16, 2010. I was unable to upload it because I could not access my account. I managed to harvest the account information off of my old, nearly dead, laptop. I post it now.

***

I have come to the inescapable conclusion that I am unstable. Crazy. Nuts. Loony. Where have I been? My husband came home in July and I was letting him use my computer for a while, so I didn’t want him to accidentally come across this blog—my secret blog. Then when he finally got his computer going, I had gone to work. I got a job. I started at the end of August. I applied for a sales position in insurance. Due to a series of miscommunications, flub-ups, and just plain stupidity on all those involved, me and six other people were given jobs in the call center portion of the company. Call center. I worked in a call center from 99 – 01, and I swore I would never do it again. And here I am.

I have tried, and tried, and tried to make it work, but the truth is, I just suck at it. The database they use is over-sophisticated and –developed. It is incredibly difficult to use, and one cannot rely on intuition like most Windows-based applications, it is based on remembering how to use the fucking thing. And my memory sucks. Big time. And why I didn’t go to law school.

I also have—ADD—yep, and some other perceptual issues that make me look lazy or stupid. I can see it in the eyes of my superiors when they try to counsel me, or as they call it “coaching” or “opportunities.” I was actually called in to the office by my boss because I was between calls, in a limbo called “aftercall” that is, a button I can push to tidy up the previous call before I allow the next one to come through, he chewed me out for taking a bite of a cinnamon roll while in after call. He didn’t see me, it was a pregnant floor Nazi who’s acquired the moniker of “Elephant Feet” due to her stomping around the office as if there were a bowling ball attached to each foot—and she’s a normal weight except for being pregnant. She told my boss I was stuffing my face in aftercall. A matter of ending the call, picking up the food, and taking a bite. What? Ten or twenty seconds, at most? I get called on the carpet for taking a bite of a sandwich? Seriously. This place is food central. Today we had birthday cake for doing such a super awesome job getting 97% of the employees to sign up to donate to United Way. Those over-charging administrative mutherfuckers. I won’t give them a dime. Their overhead is a whopping 13% of costs. And when I needed help, they did nothing for me. Fuck them.

Yesterday we had bagels, and on Friday we’re having donuts. I’m putting on weight. I can’t say no to those donuts. I try to eat as many as possible—usually four. I’m slowly killing myself.

Today I had “coaching” with a woman who generally makes me cry. She’s like a viper, smiling in your face, all the while trying to decide the best place and time to strike. She misconstrues and lies, too, then denies it.

And she pointed out some fuckups that I’d made. And when we relistened to the calls, she was right. I had mis-heard, and mis-handled several things that needed doing. And it’s the same old shit that happens to me with jobs that need extreme attention to detail—I can’t do it. Literally. She even said, “it seems as if you were distracted, as if you weren’t paying attention.” I wanted to look her in the face and go DUH!! I have ADD. And other perceptual handicaps, both visual and hearing.

I can’t do this job. And it’s demoralizing to me. It’s degrading having 25-year-olds with three years of work experience tell me what a moron I am and look at me like I have an eye in the middle of my forehead. I sit at my desk and either cry or try not to cry EVERY DAY. I fantasize about killing myself and how and where, and what to do with my kitty before I die. Is that the best way to spend ones’ day? Is that healthy? I think not. I told my husband tonight, I’ll work through Dec. 3, and then I’m done. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t handle the emotional rollercoasters, the humiliation, the shame, and the knowledge that I am not now, nor will I ever be, good at anything except eating donuts and drinking coffee.

And I’m crying again. It’s too much.

Postscript July 2011: I did quit that job. On January 12, 2011. I was trying to go to the end of January, but I became ill, again, and knew a write-up was waiting me when I returned. I did get paid for all the good holidays, however. :-)

I haven't worked since. Not for money, anyway. I've been doing a lot of writing and freelancing stuff for friends....for free. But I am happy. I really am.

I'm Back, Babee

I lost my username to log in, but I've got it now. I'll be blogging regularly from now on. ;-D

A Wing and a Prayer

We're makin' it, but just barely.

All the bills are paid,(except one, that being half of the rent, but I'm putting that check in the mail today), the refrigerator has groceries, the Internet and TV (still) work, an oscillating fan is running, but there's nothing left over.

I have been waiting on a claim from my eye insurance company for my glasses. I'd been checking online and it had been status "paid" since a week ago Friday. And yesterday the two checks arrived. Not a gazillion dollars, not by a long shot. But enough for me to get a pedicure for my job testing thing on Monday, and out of the house to see a movie with leftover to save for the next bill.

But I did something stupid. Well, naive, if nothing else. I found a local ATM that would deposit into my credit union account back in the state we just moved out of. And it wouldn't give me ANY cash back. None. Zip. Zero. Nada. There I was at 9am, showered, dressed, even wearing makeup and jewelry, ready to actually "do" something, and the brakes slammed on and I had nothing to do but go back home. Pitiful.

I could've cashed the checks at Wal-Mart, $3- per check. But the amount was too low to really warrant spending $6- to have them cashed. And then on the way home, too late, I remembered that one of the Casinos nearby would cash them for free. *sigh* And I can't touch the money until Thursday--five days away. Great.

I don't know what I was thinking, honestly. Maybe my brain has finally been pickled by the heat.

So I texted my hubby where he's working out-of-state to see if he was awake, he said he wasn't, I asked him to call me later. I came home, stayed up as late as I could, then took an Ambien and got on the pull-out bed in the liv room. (It's way too hot to sleep upstairs--our bedroom gets direct afternoon sunlight). This was at noon.

At 10:30pm, loud banging on the front door woke me up. Then I saw flashlights coming through the sliding door on the patio into the dining room. And of course, last night was the first night in who-knows-how-long I decided to sleep in the nude. So I grabbed a blanket and walkrd over to the sliding door (left slightly open for the cats with sliding door locks on), and talk to a fireman, who is backed up by other fireman, who want to know if I'm all right. (Am I depressed? I lied and said "no." Am I diabetic? "Yes, yes I am.") My husband had been trying to reach me since noon, and between the spotty cell signal and Ambien, I didn't hear the phone ring. I reassured the firemen and they took off. (I am wondering what the neighbors thought about that? LOL.)

My husband was (rightly) concerned that I may have fallen into a diabetic coma. But even more accurately and therefore scary, I'm sure he was more concerned about suicide. And that truth is a hard one to accept: I have thought about it a lot. I've even told him that sometimes I think about it. I'm not sure why I told him. Attention? Intervention? A cry for help? I don't know. But the idea that today my husband thought I might be dead, at my own hand, became tangibly REAL. Not a mythical ennui "oh, I wish I were dead," dramatic Hollywood way, but in a very final, rotting carcass kind of way. And even though I don't want to be dead--I really don't--I just feel so done with life. I'm done. The physical pain, the emotional pain, the constant struggling financially. I am tired of it. And although I do think about suicide frequently, I'm not sure that I want my family and friends to pay the price for my suffering. No, I am sure. I don't want them to suffer the consequences of my actions. But man. I'm a miserable human being.

The Truth About Money

I quit a really, really, really crappy and low-paying job--one we moved hundreds of miles away for me to take--after completing training, which was 30 days. The job made me anxious and fearful and I could not live in that state of mind. Looooong story. After taxes and other deductions like medical etc., I was bringing home about $250 a week. About one could expect to make at a fast food place.

Add to that I sucked at the position and my training leader suggested I get out while the going was good (i.e., before I got fired), and I talked with my husband about it, and he said if he got a job--any job--I could. And the Saturday after I completed training, he did get a job. A temporary job, but a job, nonetheless. One that requires him to work in another state, where he sleeps in the back of our mini-van where we threw in a mattress we found. It's very comfortable, there's no seats in the back, but after a couple of weeks of that? It's no longer fun or comfortable. But he's doing it, for me, for him, for us.

I spoke to him today and he denies memory of setting up the e-mail. I choose to believe him. He calls me multiple times per day; texts me; and posts a lot on Facebook how much he loves me, ad nauseum. If he's cheating, he's hella good at hiding it, and I can spot the best of them. I can't live in a state of distrust, so I'm going to let it ride. If he is genuinely cheating, eventually the truth will come out and it will collapse organically (either his lovers or our marriage).

But here's the deal:

I spoke yesterday of his ability to fuck up. And so he has. He worked for six weeks, slept in the van, had showers and food out, paid a lot of bills, but neglected to put money aside for our rent for July. I asked him to do it, he nodded his head, which usually means "I'm nodding at you so you'll leave me alone even though I have no idea what I'm nodding for."

He got one last (weekly) check for his temp work, and he paid half the rent for July. Our landlady was thrilled. NOT.

But it gets worse.

And perhaps this is why we are married--we each fuck up in the same way.

While I was working, I was trying to sort out several months of back unemployment that I was owed. It literally took months to resolve. Once it did, I had already received my second paycheck. I chucked $1,000 at my husband's bank account to cover checks he wrote for an unemployment check he was expecting that magically got effed up by the state (again. Sigh.). So I wasn't able to put any aside like I wanted. Plus, I felt so flush, I started doing a lot of shopping. Nothing grand, no: a bath towel, hand towel, and washcloth for the downstairs half bath; a cabinet for the 1/2 bath to store cat litter, etc. in; earrings; a couple of t-shirts; a CD; a new wifi N router; two pairs of new glasses (and such a deal!) and so on. By the time it was all over, I probably blew through $300- and another $300- for the glasses (which i desperately needed). Not a make or break situation. And I reiterate that all bills were also paid.

But then we decided to keep me on Cobra. That was $750-, for two months, and left me broke. And then my husband blew a bunch of money on meals out for himself and us together, and evidently it ate up most of that week's paycheck. And so half a month for July. He is very good at math, and I always expect him to keep good track of his money, but he doesn't. And why do I keep expecting it?

We are fucking broke.

He's back to work, now, but his first check won't be for two weeks. And that needs to cover the rest of our July rent. The other two checks (if there are two more weeks of work) will go to August rent. And if there's anything left over? Bills.

We were just barely able to pay our car insurance, today, but that's because he borrowed $200- from his father so he could go to work out of state. I don't know what he's eating, but it must be cheap.

We are in deep doo-doo. Particularly since the Senate did not renew the unemployment extension.

Granted, I probably shouldn't have quit the horrible job, but mentally it was just a really bad place for me to be (for example, being timed in the bathroom). I got an email from a former co-worker today, and of the 26 people I started training with, only 14 are left. In a 3 1/2 month period! One actually got up at break-time when I was still there, grabbed his stuff, and never came back. Really. It wasn't just me, it was bad. The union steward told me that they thought attrition was 50 - 65%. This whopping huge corporation can afford that because training costs are a write-off. It's a people factory.

But. Here we are. At the corner of fucked and now what? and the answer is "I don't know." I sold a couple of books on Amazon, but I don't have any money to actually put them in the mail; I also am expecting a claim check from my vision insurer (I never actually got the info on the benefits until after I had quit), but I have no idea how much that will be. The power, cell, and internet are all paid; the DirecTV is not. I hate to give it up because it takes up so much of my day and night--if I'm not reading, writing, or cleaning house, I'm watching politics.

I have no money to market a few gigs I do on the side, so I have no clients. Craig's list? I suppose I could try it.

e-Bay I can't afford either--they charge you whether you sell or not.

So where will we be in a month? I don't know. I don't know.

A woman i was in college with and who was a HUGE pain in the ass--she annoyed nearly everyone--just got a good job. That makes me feel like shit.

I have noticed more jobs that I'm qualified for on the net lately; yesterday I applied for five alone. Let's see if I get an interview.

Exhale.

We have nothing. Who would want our used furniture? Analog TV, and old CDs. Even my laptop is falling apart.

I'm paralyzed with fear. I can't decide what to do, so I do nothing.

The Truth About My Marriage.

The possibility of a large amount of money entering my life came up recently. How much, I don't know. But. My first thought? If it were enough to get away from here, what would I take with me? And I started making a mental list.

Both cats.
Laptop.
Clothes/shoes.
DVD's.
Some books.
My Jim Shore ornaments.
My bed. I love my bed. I brought it to the relationship although we bought a new mattress together. But I could walk away from it if I had to.

And I could just walk away with those few things. And I know where I would go. To stay, permanently.

I just discovered that my husband has an e-mail I didn't know about. And he denies it. His name is unusual. How many people could there be in this medium-size town with that name? I'm thinking only one.

I put up with a lot of shit with my husband. He's kind, thoughtful, and a good listener. He's not judgmental. He fills an emotional need in me by allowing to be myself and speak my mind. He's handsome and unchallenging, sexually, which I like. I tired of freaks in the bedroom years ago. And I no longer care if I can drive a man wild in bed.

And.

He is a fuckup. He cannot hold a job, and hasn't had a permanent job since I've known him. We have highs and lows, financially. Of course I haven't worked much myself in the last five years, and now I don't feel capable of doing that. I'm seriously considering going on disability.

I was willing to put up with his up-fuckery for the sake of the fulfillment of my emotional needs. Now I'm not so sure.

He also breaks things. He doesn't mean to, but it finally dawned on me the other day that he is not aware of his surroundings. When driving, he doesn't notice the most obvious things--like dead animals in the road (he drives right over them); parking spaces (he circles the lot until he finds one as far from the door as possible); gas stations, too; signs; things in the sky; jaywalkers--he just lives in his mind so much. He is on the autism spectrum so intellectually I know he can't help it, but realistically it makes him very hard to deal with. And so he breaks things because he is not fully present most of the time.

I'm so sad all the time. I feel like....I feel as if I've lived my life, I'm done. There is nothing more I want to do. Or am capable of doing. I feel like I'm waiting to die. I feel like everything I do now, I have to fake, emotionally. I feel shut down, closed down, emotionless. One day blurs into the next.

I'm so unhappy. But I don't have the energy or the interest to fix it. I just don't care. I can't even decide if I want to stay in or end my marriage.

I haven't had use of my computer much the last few weeks because he was using it. His won't connect to the wifi here. Normally I wouldn't let him touch my computer (due to breaking shite and also being ultra-nosey, busting into my emails), but I had reconciled myself to being attached to him, warts and all, and so I wasn't really able to blog due to lack of access and just not thinking real clearly, either.

Imagine That

And here I thought I was cranky and depressed the last few days. Turns out that I'm sick, evidently!! Way to be in touch with your body!

The whining will re-commence when my joints quit aching.