Full Circle

Well, now that I'm sufficiently "inspired" to write, might as well continue and bring this full circle to one of my earlier blog posts where I contemplated out loud the idea that I may not live to see another year (spoilers: I'm still here)

Here I am, whiny 20-something cis, straight, white male, spending half of my time an insufferably opinionated politics wang, spending the other half being insufferably depressed. Is it any wonder I don't make new friends and I can't keep prospective romances from fleeing after a month with my simultaneously infuriating, frustrating, and neurotic mess of a mind?

It's been about two weeks on the dot since my last depressive meltdown. Hardly enough time to get used to not constantly feeling broken. Every time, I wonder if it'll be the last. I wonder if I'll magically get better this time, or alternatively if I'll finally feel so broken that I'll do something stupid and either life changing or life ruining.

The first thing I did when the depressive wave hit full force today was give heavy consideration to finishing my work for the day, telling my boss I quit, going home early, packing up a pillow, my cat, and a few necessities, leaving a check for several months' worth of rent, and just leaving with absolutely no plan or idea what I was going to do. Shit, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't still turning in my mind as I write this. Or maybe I'll finally write down a date and plan a trip to somewhere where assisted suicide is legal (turns out the four US states that have it require the patient to have a terminal disease, and somehow I doubt the rhetorical argument that depression is terminal would work on them. That and you have to be a resident).

I worry about becoming a statistic- a note on a page and a stain on the ground. But I worry more about having these feelings for the rest of my life. Feeling trapped in this body- in this mind- in this life.

The real thing I'm worried about? I'm worried I won't have someone who can support me through that decision. And I'm worried about how terrible it would be to ask someone to do that- to be there with me through the decision to kill myself. How on earth could I possibly ask someone who's presumably a close friend to travel with me- to help me find closure in life and in death and hold my hand before I take that step of finality. How could I do that to someone I care about? But how can I continue to do this to myself? To keep going when it hurts so much so often? To persist even when I've built my life so poorly on a foundation of dust and cobwebs; structurally nonexistent. I'm a runaway train that just hasn't crashed yet, but is destiny-bound for disaster.

I go through this song and dance every month- through therapy, psychiatry, drugs, coping techniques, hobbies, friendships, extra sunlight, extra sleep, and all I do is get more resigned, more neurotic, and more miserable. Even as much as I would have wanted companionship, I don't want to put anyone through that, knowing how bad I've been in relationships past and how much worse I appear to have gotten since.

So maybe it's about time I throw in the towel and embrace the stoic inevitability of death (who says I can't be cliche, even in times of despair?).

Who am I kidding? This'll end up like all the others- a plea for attention and recognition because my sense of self-worth is wrapped up entirely in what others think of me, despite going so far out of my way to alienate people and tread my own path. I'm too paralyzed by self-doubt and fear to make any decisions on the finality of death.

Here's hoping I figure it out someday so I can finally get off Mr. Bones' Wild Ride~