Actually I am not fucking happy at all. I am, at best, in my usual state of apathy, mild depression, and crippling anxiety. But this new title is a desperate attempt to deflect all the “suicide traffic” my blog has been getting ever since I misguidedly wrote this post just over a year ago.
As you can see from the screenshot below, my blog is the fucking ninth entry on the first page of Google when you search for “How to Kill Yourself Painlessly”:
“How to Kill Yourself Painlessly” is unsurprisingly also the number one search term which brings people to this blog – well, it’s that and “chipmunk”. Yes, fucking “chipmunk!” and multiple variations thereof (“sex with chipmunk” etc?!?!). All of this makes me very uncomfortable. From time to time, people will leave a comment on that post, telling me that they’re going to kill themselves. This confuses me quite a bit. On the one hand, I want to write back to tell them (of course!) “don’t do it!”, but there is another part of me that wants to ignore these comments altogether or delete them. I am not a therapist. There is nothing I can do for these people. A glib reply to their comments is not going to help.
Also, I don’t really want to belong to the “suicide club”. No matter how “progressive” or “enlightened” the times we’re living in are, there’s still a stigma to mental illness, and I want to be fucking normal. I don’t want to hang out in the comments box of my blog, talking about suicide methods. I know that must make me sound cruel, but, well, it’s true.
Recently, one of my commenters, with the cheerful name “lifeismisery”, wrote that he liked my writing but that he found my writing “often kind of depressing”. This got me a-thinkin’. When somebody called “lifeismisery” finds you depressing then, well….bloody hell!
Oh, God, I know that I’m depressing and stuck in a rut. I leave little comments on the blog “The Cat Girl Speaks” all the time, but she never leaves a comment over here. Waah! Waah! Why would she? I’m such a big stick in the mud. It must really fucking depress people to read this blog. I take myself far too seriously. Worse still – I write blog posts about taking myself too seriously. Jesus fucking Christ.
For 2012, I am going to fucking try to stop being such a misery guts. Surely there must be some good things in my life, after all?! Last week I got offered full-time employment with the major international company I’d been working for as a slave contractor for the past 10 months. The health benefits are fucking out of this world – not just for me, but for MM as well. I know that this won’t mean much to European readers but it’s a huge relief to know that I can now go to the doctor to get asthma medication or to the dentist to get a check-up without going bankrupt. Hell, I might even go and get allergy shots since it’s all covered! Maybe I could even get some anti-anxiety medication.
Also, this company does treat its employees well, and it’ll even pay up to around $5000 for me to take job-related classes. Since I write for my job, my manager said she could probably arrange for me to take some kind of writing classes. This job is certainly far from being a dream, but it could help me progress.
On the other hand, MM and I are not getting on well at all. Some of that is my fault, because I have taken, taken and taken from this relationship and lent on him so heavily – and, yet, I have given nothing back. I don’t know why. Is it because I don’t know how? Or don’t want to? He is right to feel angry and cheated, yet instead of leaving he just rants and yells at me no matter how tired and depressed I’m feeling. He demands an apology for this; an apology for that. I just don’t have the fucking energy to deal with him and his needs. I feel that we are both mired in a big morass of co-dependency.
But, hey, let’s not dwell on the negative, right? Things can get better, can’t they? It’s that time of year when people make resolutions and feel hopeful that they can change. I just feel so scared that I’ll be living this narrow, dull, little life forever. Rationally, I know that I have control over how my life goes so why does it feel that life is just something that happens to me?
