So, yeah, tried to kill myself a couple weeks ago. Best effort yet. I'm pretty much blacked out of when I texted my friend for help. Spent 10 days in a psych ward. I fucking loved having no contact with friends, family, phone, internet, my pets, my car, my dirty apartment, my sketchy neighborhood. No chores gnawing away at my subconscious as I sit in front of a computer or behind a book trying to ignore it all.
And everyone there was in the same boat, so they all understood without words, without having to explain everything to everyone over and over. No judgment. Sympathetic nurses 24/7 available to talk. Not a lot of ways to harm myself. And my roommates were awesome company. Just sitting on my bed reading the book, "Alcoholics Anonymous," while Kristina slept off her pain meds filled me with peace. Actual PEACE!
I so dreaded coming back here, and now that I'm here, I'm miserable again. I'm even ungrateful that my mom bought me a portable air conditioner unit when she could have given me the money toward my clutch repair, and I feel like a turd.
Everything here pulls me down when it reminds me of all the shit that's been going on that made me want to die. I CAN'T ESCAPE IT! Online I can cut out almost all connections, but not in real life! Not when I drive by the therapy place that ditched me. Not when I drive by the shrink's office, the one who just looked over my prescriptions from the ward's Dr. and didn't even ask ONE question about what happened or how I was feeling. Oh, yeah, if I get a new therapist, I'm getting a new shrink. Fuck him.
I want to start all over again with just what I can fit in my car and the smallest U-haul truck they have. I bet I could get rid of 75% of the shit I have and never miss it (not counting furniture, though I want that couch and all but one of my aquariums to get the fuck out of here asap.)
Then I'd go to another town somewhere between ManchVegas and Raymond. I'd only be leaving one friend behind, to tell you the truth - the one who saved my life. I'd get an airy and open apartment, freshly painted all white. It would still have to be one bedroom, but that doesn't mean the rooms can't be really big with lots of windows. It would be probably a duplex, maybe a fairly-new mother-in-law's apartment built onto a private house. That way they'd be all too glad for the pitiful amount Section 8 will allow maximum for my rent with heat and hot water, because it will almost cover their own mortgage (the reason I really can't move out of here after my rent staying stagnant for 8 years is rent prices went way up while my allowance did not.)
But this is pretend time. The street would be quiet, residential homes, mostly Capes, just like the one Julie lived in a couple years ago. It would have a lot of old trees lining the streets and not a ton of hills - definitely no mosquito-generating swamps. The neighbors would be friendly but not nosey, have nice cars and nicely-landscaped and cared-for yards. No barking dogs.
The landlords would give me absolute privacy with my private side yard, which I'd fence in for Sylvie to be able to hang out without being leashed every second. I'd have a safe place for my lilac tree, and I could plant my gold cherry tomatoes in my buckets like usual.
I would only be 20 minutes from Jamie and Erich. I'd also be only 20 minutes from Carmella and the new Manchester-area friends I made in the psych ward the past couple of weeks. It would also be much more convenient for Jeff to drop by once in a while. Then I wouldn't feel alone. No, then I wouldn't always BE alone.
I thought writing this would make me feel better. I guess playing pretend took some of the sadness away so that I'm not almost crying, just a lump in my throat now. And texting Michele to ask how her vacation's going. But as soon as I look away from the computer, I see the clutter around me, the unswept floors, the dark floor that badly needs refinishing, the pulled curtains, because every window looks out on somewhere public. And everywhere - EVERYWHERE - there is a pet begging for or needing attention when I'm supposed to be paying attention to MYSELF right now.
In town, I see everybody with someone else. God, I dread seeing Mike with his new someone else. I've used up this town as Dawn did, and there's no one left here that would even have me as a fuck friend, forget a girlfriend. Stephen King wrote this town. Too bad I can't make it go away by just closing the cover.