It’s a fair question.
What did I do to stop being suicidal? Why do I not have a history of suicide attempts and hospitalizations like so many other depressives? Why despite all the times I have felt truly horrible and wanted to end it all have I never actually tried?
I feel now like I never truly wanted to die. Like with a lot of fellow sufferers, I didn’t want to die, I just wanted relief from a pain so profound that death seemed superior.
It’s the kind of mental state that leads to an animal gnawing off a limb.
But even at my worst moments, something within me kept me from trying or even making any but the vaguest of plans.
I know that at one point, the idea that I would not feel this way forever and that it therefore made no sense to solve a temporary problem like feeling really low with so permanent a solution as death.
That’s way too much of a commitment. I’ll just take a nap instead.
Going deeper in, I think there has always been a solid core of stability underneath all the numbness and chaos and mental noise of my depression. A tiny little island of sanity that I can cling to when the storms roll in.
Besides, I have always been, for lack of a better term, “sensible”. Which in this case means, “highly resistant to being moved into action by emotion. ”
Call it emotional inertia.
So any suicidal impulses would have to overcome THAT, and there’s no way. I can’t even overcome it to do things I actually want to do and SHOULD do.
Questionable activities that I know deep down are wrong like suicide don’t stand a chance of making the grade.
In that sense, my inertia is both a symptom of and protection from my mental illness.
Perhaps that is how I became so resistant to my own impulses in the first place. My mental executives saw the suicidal thoughts in my head and looked at each other then said “how about you run everything past us before you do it, okay?”.
And that’s how “The Committee” was born. Arguably it is far too good at keeping me from doing the wrong things by keeping me from doing anything, but at least it started off as something good.
Just like the rest of depression. If you think about it.
Both depression and anxiety can be seen as healthy coping mechanisms gone berserk and left to grow out of control by mental isolation and a lack of there being any healthier way for the mind to address a lack of reward than to keep pressing the one button that it has found still works.
Anhedonia’s a bitch, man. Word.
With me, that’s video games. I am addicted to video games precisely because they let me get pleasure and joy at a price in effort that I can actually afford.
What’s more, they make me feel safe. Not just safe from the big bad world out there, but from the demons in my head as well.
Video games keep them too busy to torment me.
And now, some Hearthstone.
More after the break.
Adventures in ordering in : missing ingredient
Welcome to another episode of What Did They Fuck Up This Time ™?
This time, it’s not the courier’s fault. Burger King gave me a large Diet Coke with very little Diet Coke in it.
It’s pretty much just soda water with a teeny bit of Diet Coke syrup in it. My guess would be that the syrup canister was almost empty when they poured my drink, which is a hard thing to detect at this level because it looks relatively normal.
And it’s not like I want them to start tasting every drink before they send it out.
That would be gross.
But I am still disappointed, so I sent in a complaint.
Or rather, a “request”.
The word “complaint” no longer exists on the Skip the Dishes website. To get to where I would normally complain, I clicked on “Need help?” then clicked on item missing etc. and then I was allowed to make a “request” for a refund.
What kind of corporate doublespeak bullshit is this?
I’m not politely requesting a refund, god dammit. I am pissed off and I want to complain. Yes, I expected that to lead them to offer me a refund like they have in the past, but that’s miles away from merely “requesting” one.
“Excuse me, sir or madam, but if it’s not too much of a bother, could you possibly spare a moment to consider compensating me, however lightly, for the fact that you fucked up my god damned DRINK???”
What, was the word “complaint” too harsh and judge-y for the delicate sensibilities of your overpaid marketing department? Did they worry that it was sending the wrong message and predisposing people to be angry and demanding? Did it give the unwashed masses too much power over their corporate overlords?
Well as you can see, in my case, it backfired spectacularly. Instead of calming me down, it pissed me off in a situation I normally don’t stress about at all.
I’ve had to complain about this n’ that regarding my Skip lots of times before (unfortunately) and so to me, it’s no big deal.
I grumble a little, make the complaint, get a refund in Skip credits, and that is it.
But now you have set me off on this whole elaborate rant instead. And while this is largely the product of certain defects in my personality, I choose to blame you.
So screw you, Burger King lackeys. You can’t reprogram MY mind!
The Freemason reptoid perverts from the center of the hollow Earth got there way before you, buddy, and they made sure my brain is write-protected.
Can’t be caught out THERE, buddy boy!
Besides, through the reptoids I’ve nabbed invites to all the best Pervert Parties all over the world, and let me tell you, they are WILD.
I’m sorry, my microchip is telling me not to talk about that.
It says I go nighty nighty now.
Nighty night, nice people!
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.