I kinda wanna write about it.
But I kinda don’t wanna write about it.
I kinda should write about it.
But I kinda shouldn’t write about it.
So, I guess, if you don’t wanna read about it, don’t read this.
If you don’t wanna report me to social services, but would feel obligated to, don’t read this.
So, I guess it’s time to tell you about it.
There were a couple factors that caused it. The first is minor.
I am sick of crying at work.
All I seem to do these days is cry. At work. Everyone at work is totally understanding about it, but it’s exhausting and embarrassing. I’m sick of caring.
The second reason is also minor.
The first reason I cried lately, was because of some chick at work. I had to pee, so I called R over to cover me, because she was the floater. She was walking up and said, “You’re lucky I’m coming over.”
I’m all, “What do you mean?”
“I don’t like you.”
I tilt my head and have her repeat herself. Now, we all joke around all the time, so I’m really confused. I had never done a thing to her, not intentionally, anyway. She borrowed my charger the day before. But as I’m in the bathroom I decide she’s being serious. So I go up to her and ask, “What’d I do?”
It was a bitch to get out of her what I did. As she walked away she said, “A couple things. Basically, you’re a bitch.”
I know this is her problem. She’s the bitch and coward for not even facing me with her problems. She’s so unimportant. But something deep inside me still cared, and was severely hurt. Because despite everything I knew for a fact, I burst into tears. I called the ASM to come talk to me before I exploded; either in sobs or screams directed at R.
But that was all minor. The real, main reason? I’ll tell you.
I have a system. I have a system for almost everything. And if you disrupt my system, I get frustrated. It’s the ADD/Aspberger’s in me. So, I have a system for closing down the registers at night. But Sunday night, I really had to pee (I have to pee a lot during work. I drink like a camel). So, in order to avoid disrupting my system, I ran to the bathroom when my system allowed some time. Literally, there was only enough time for me to go, pee, and come back. As I was walking back, Q called me over. He had to use the bathroom. So I was frustrated, and I was jokingly making a big deal out of it. But I covered him.
He left his phone at the register, and it went off. I thought, ‘it’d be really funny to answer that on him. ….No, no it wouldn’t.’ But then the manager that was there said, “Answer it!” So I thought, ‘Oh, she thinks it’ll be funny. So it must be funny.’ Besides, it wouldn’t bother me much if someone answered my phone. Esp if it was a joke/”revenge”. So I answered it. It was his gf’s sister. I told the chick the truth, I was Q’s coworker and was playing a joke on him. She told me to tell him to call her back, and we hung up.
Two days later, the day after the R incident, I found out his gf broke up with him that night. Again, tears.
The next day I had off.
The day after that, I decided I was going to stop caring about work, so that I could stop crying there. So I took a Xanax. I was OK. Q walked by and glared at me when I wasn’t looking, and I took another Xanax. Finally, we ended up at the same register. The awkwardness and guilt was too much. I couldn’t take it. So I volunteered to go to the slowest register. The one where no customers come by, and you have nothing to do but think. And think. And think.
I kinda wanted to do it.
But I kinda didn’t want to do it.
I tried to find somebody to stop me. But I couldn’t find anyone. Couldn’t think of anyone to call (not that I’d be allowed to call anyone, anyway.) So I did it.
On Thursday, April 24, 2014, I took a total of 10 Xanax and 10 Acetaminophen.
I didn’t want to die. Just wanted the attention. The pity. I wanted R and Q to feel bad for what they’d done to me. I just wanted to go to the hospital where someone would take care of me and I could get away from everything for a few days.
I didn’t feel anything happening, so I went up to Q and told him that I was suicidal because of the whole situation. He tried to save his ass by being all, “Oh, no, don’t do that. We fight like this all the time. It’s really no big deal.” No one noticed anything wrong for the rest of the work day. I only know this because I don’t remember the rest of it. I may have asked a coworker if my eyes were dilated. But I’m not sure.
Apparently, I got home safely. I guess I hung around for a while. My parents didn’t notice anything. My friend was 20 minutes late coming over, so I figured she was going to be really late. So I decided I felt like masturbating. I went up stairs, laid down, got my pants down, and the next thing I knew it was 10:30 and my mom was calling me, telling me my friend was here.
My friend, A, noticed right away. But she’s a CNA, she’s trained to. She almost took me to the hospital. But for some reason (maybe I told her no, I was fine), she decided not to. A and I went to Wegman’s and apparently I was acting kinda weird, cuz she was telling everyone that I was just a ditzy person. Then we came back and had fun.
The next morning, after A left, I decided my parents had a right to know. I had debated telling them, because I knew what they would do. But they are my parents. So I told my mom. She remained calm all day. Then my dad got home.
YOU’RE GOING TO LOSE YOUR JOB! MY CAREER IS RUINED! HE’S GOING TO LOSE HIS GUNS!
Several days of lectures and yells. Oh, and new restrictions.
My boss found out about it. Apparently idiot-ass me told a customer. But she never addressed it at work. Only on fb.
I still want the attention. I still want the pity. So I’m quietly spreading the story around at work. Even though my store is the center of rumors, my story isn’t getting around very well. Just as well, I guess.
Apparently Q and his gf got back together. He spoke to me today like nothing had happened. So, things are getting better, I guess. But the meds still need fixing. Because I kinda wanna do it again. I still wanna go to the hospital.
I went on a shopping spree yesterday. I found relaxers. Particularly, hooka sticks. They’re e-cigs with hooka instead of nicotine (right?). They’re fantastic.
No, my parents don’t know about the hooka sticks. And they aren’t going to. My counselor might. Maybe. Or not.
I’m exhausted, now. I guess it was good I wrote about it. Do you hurt yourself? What are your reasons?