Best I say trigger warning (suicide)
I’m driving to work. Should I turn back and go home? There’s a turn-off coming up. Should I do it? I drive by and continue to work. Its Monday, and I don’t think I can get through today. Another turn-off approaches. I think I will definitely turn around and go home. Yes, I’ll do it. I rehearse the explanation for my absence, “Boss, you see I’m depressed and don’t want to live anymore, so I couldn’t be bothered coming in to work today. It’s all a bit pointless really.” The turn-off passes me by. I don’t want to do this day. I can’t do this day. This day is doing me. Guilt drives me onwards to work.
Before I know it I’m in the parking lot sitting in the car, still debating. Should I just reverse and go home? Maybe I could run upstairs and write a note for my boss. Instead I plod up the incline of the parking lot and into the office. I’m exhausted and still have the rest of the day to get through.
I scavange my brain for every mantra or bargaining tool at my disposal. I dig into my arsenal of music. But still I want to die. So very, very much.
The office conversations drifts in and out through my music. Mundane stuff… my son writes exams on Tuesday ……look at my new shoes my friend bought me …..did you have a nice weekend? The cheerfulness disturbs me. I can’t relate. I want to die. I go to the bathroom and practice aminated faces so I can fit in.
I spend the rest of the day listening to ‘Stay With Me’ on repeat, snapping at people, discreetly going to the bathroom to cry, and always, always still wanting to die. Its nearly hometime. I will go straight to bed and disappear. Maybe I won’t go to work tomorrow. Maybe. Most likely I will. Another ground hog day of torture.
I do the unmentionable. I accept defeat and phone my doctor. “I’m quite suicidal” I politely inform the receptionist and she takes a message. He never phones me back. My isolation is compounded.
Fuck, I hate bipolar