Monthly Archives: April 2014

What I Did on Thursday…Rock Bottom?

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.


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?

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Posted by on April 28, 2014 in Uncategorized


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N for Not

My parents are Not listening.

My family does Not get it.

I will Not be able to get out of this house.

I will Not be able to own anything at all.

I am Not happy here.

My roommate does Not make enough money for us to live together.

This life is Not OK.

It canNot stay the same.

It will Not change.


Posted by on April 16, 2014 in Uncategorized


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M is for Mother

The seed of hatred I mentioned a month or two ago? Yeah, it’s growing. I deal with parents that don’t even try to get it. I walked in the door last night, all nice a cheery. My mom asks me how my day was. I’m like, “Well, it was a bad day.” She asks why. I say, “I had a bad depression episode today.” She rolled her eyes, sighed, and walked away.




Who DOES that? My mother, that’s who. After we have at it for a couple minutes, I give up and go up to my room. Later, my dad tries to play peacekeeper. “You don’t know how it feels for us, with all that we do for you, and you come in and say ‘depression’.” I’m all, “So you don’t want to deal with it.” I didn’t get a clear answer. Well, I have to deal with it. I thought you were there to help, but I guess not. “I’ve had depressing situations, too. I haven’t let them get me down.” I try telling him, “But you don’t have something in your brain screwing everything up!” I told him this at least three times during the conversation. Probably more. Never got a real response out of him. They’re not even trying to get it. He’s like, “We’re paying for your meds, for your counselor, we’ve gone three times to see her.” But they haven’t learned anything. Everything the counselor says goes in one ear and out the other. They just don’t want to get it.

I need to get out of this house. Now.

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Posted by on April 16, 2014 in Uncategorized


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L is for Lost

I’m pretty lost. I don’t know what to do with myself. I feel like a failure. I’m almost 24 years old and I still work as a cashier at a silly old department store. Like, seriously? I should at least be editing, if not writing, by now. What am I doing wrong? What should I be doing? How do I do it? Where do I go? I’m so lost.


Posted by on April 16, 2014 in Uncategorized


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J is for Jealous

I’m about to share with you a big weakness of mine. Don’t take advantage of it, please. You ready?

I get so jealous. All the time. It’s disgusting. It happens almost every day. When I sell credit cards and people have normal annual incomes. It’s all, “oh, well isn’t that nice for you? I’m just Ms. Nobody here making nothing. I can’t even afford an apartment.” Like, seriously? It’s so childish.

My jealousy can get really, really bad. I have a really good friend. She’s got so much going for her in the writing world, and I’m almost too jealous of her to be happy for her. Once, when I heard something happening to her, I almost cried. Why can’t that happen to me? Even trying to remind myself that her father is in a coma doesn’t relieve the jealousy.

Don’t worry, I have the counselor helping me work through it.

Do you get jealous? Do you feel like a little child wanting a lollipop? I do. What’s your biggest weakness?


Posted by on April 14, 2014 in Uncategorized


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K is for Kindness

I know, I’m late again. I forgot to type it all up after I wrote it all out. Anyways, here’s K’s entry.

So, when people are mean to you, it’s commonly said that the way to deal with it is to kill them with kindness. I have tried. But I simply can’t do it.

I’m a kind person. I care about you. I’ll take care of you. But you give me attitude? Nuh-uh. I don’t deal with that. I may not be mean to your face, but I will certainly begin to ignore you. Not look at you. Etc. Oh, you want coupons? Nope. You were a bitch. You wanna save $25 and get our credit cards? Nuh-uh.

I’m so kind it’s sickening. I’m considering going to work on my day off and missing most of a convention because my boss needs me. Who does that!? I’m thinking of continuing to work there when I move to the lake, despite the gas, just because my boss doesn’t want me to leave. Even though they write you up for being sick.


I’ll give friends rides for free. A couch. Food. I’ll take on more of the rent (but I’ll take the master). I’ll give a stranger my time just because they asked for it. I’ll give you my ear. Go on, tell me about it. It could be easy to take advantage of me. Probably.

Kindness is a virtue. Do you have it?

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Posted by on April 14, 2014 in Uncategorized


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J is for Job

I hate my job.

OK, I don’t hate my job that much.

But I hate my job.

They treat me well. Mostly. They understand that I have depression. That sometimes I just need to cry before I can function. I get pretty much all the days off I ask for. My bosses are fun and funny and easy-going. My environment is as positive as a retail environment can be.

But it’s retail, for one. It’s not for me. It’s my Just Over Broke occupation. It’s not my career. But I feel like I’ll be stuck there forever. There, where they write you up for being sick. Where they pressure and pressure and pressure you to get credits and shops, etc. Where the store manager always seems to be yelling at or talking about you. I can’t deal with that thought. I don’t want to be a cashier all my life.

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Posted by on April 11, 2014 in Uncategorized


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