Me, Minus Job 2
This is not a suicide note, ransom note or manifesto, but it feels like it could be.
I left a job that was mentally and emotionally damaging, in accordance with my own ethics. I witnessed some bizarre behavior that made me fear for my safety and the stability of the company in question. None of the details are important because that contract is over and God willing I never have to deal with those people ever again.
But ever since then, for the last three weeks or so, I have been struggling with enormous, uncharacteristic levels of sadness and despair. Feelings that are not like me. I’m afraid for my life right now.
I have about 30 days worth of savings — enough to pay my December rent — and then I hit the wall. I won’t be able to afford food, rent, transportation, or anything else. I have a beautiful rescue cat I need to feed, a cat who is my primary support lifeline. My local network is nonexistent and my online friends (bless you all) are really in no position to help me.
I feel wiped out, humiliated, disregarded, and alone.
And this isn’t usually like me. I’m scared of myself because I don’t know how to get on top of these feelings of despair and hopelessness. I’m not the self-harming or suicidal type but I’ve never felt so brittle before, hollowed out, like I might shatter if someone breathes on me. I have developed insomnia. I cry and don’t understand why. I‘m boiling away inside.
I don’t really have anyone to talk to. I haven’t dated in over 25 years because of really bad past relationships and a total inability to trust people to mean what they say and do what they say they’ll do. What a loser, right?
And then there’s all this #icantbreathe stuff that upsets me on so many levels I can’t even express. It confirms everything I fear about this country, the absolute contempt of the wealthy and the powerful against ordinary people. It confirms all my worst thoughts about humanity in general, watching this bullshit play out in city after city. My city is not immune to this shit — we have some racist ass cops here with a well-established history of assaulting and killing the mentally ill. There’s this #gamergate shit that has killed most of my joy in Twitter and confirms for me as a woman I can never create anything of value.
I feel so tired, so empty, so sad and so beaten down. I don’t know what to do. I can’t afford therapy, or whatever new age bullshit passes for it these days. I’m running up my only credit card just trying to pay bills, eat, and keep my head above water, but it won’t be long before I can’t make the payment on that, either.
What am I supposed to do now? Where do I turn? Why am I so fucking scared?
If I lose my home next month, that brittle skin I’m wearing is going to crack, and for the first time I don’t know what will happen when it does. Don’t give me Fight Club bullshit about ‘hitting bottom and having nothing to lose’; this is also not ‘I love all my stuff and want to keep it, poor poor me’. This is ‘I honestly don’t know what my life will become when this breaks’.
I’m so scared and so tired of being scared, and I just want it all to stop. I want it to stop.
I just feel like I’ve failed. Failed as a woman. Failed as an artist. Failed to perform the barest base functions of human beings. So reboot me, ctrl-alt-delete me, give my soul to someone who can do something worthwhile with it.