Mental Health and Suicide

I hurt myself. My arms don't work. I'm standing up to type because my elbows don't move but my shoulders move a little.

Inspector is not going to believe how much I did today. I'm stupid.

I still can't move my elbows today but they're stuck at a 90 degree bend instead of being fully extended. Progress, I guess. Typing is easier, so it hasn't affected my day too much.

Once you're mobile again: you should probably get a weight and find a series of arm exercises to keep your strength up.

I don't know how I got this weak in the first place. I've tried everything but exercise.

Got yelled at by my supervisor at work on Friday because one of my coworkers failed to reach out for help with an issue and I didn't supervise them while trying to do another part of the job. Vented, only to get the coworker in question mad at me too. Said supervisor, meanwhile, tried to call me in to work on Saturday because another coworker called off. Had trouble sleeping last night, and said sleep ended with a bad dream where I somehow ended up getting harassed by a guy I follow online.

I don't need stuff like this. I don't need another reminder of how much of an absolute failure I am as a human being.

Echowarrior said:

I don't need stuff like this. I don't need another reminder of how much of an absolute failure I am as a human being.

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You're not an absolute failure. And I should know, having failed some significant parts of life -- or having succeeded at certain parts only to have those successes ripped away from me.



I won't deny that's its frustrating sometimes, having people that are supposed to know me well (blood family, for example), compare my post-2000 progress with the trajectory that I was on in 1998, and wonder aloud what happened and why I am where I am.

Sometimes, my brain gets in on it as well, which is how I recognize the pattern.

And no, the things that damn near kill us but don't are more likely to leave us with PTSD rather than make us stronger.

But each day you live, that's a success.
Each day you advance even a little, or stay in place, that's a success.

Heck, my arch-nemesis will likely never face any justice for his back-stabbing, bullying, and worse; but each day that I live and do things spites him, so I keep on keeping on.



But enough about me. You took a self-insert fanfic written in your early teens and ran with it, inspiring others to create a shared universe that brought joy and laughter to a joyless and overwrought fandom. No-one, not even Swift-Vulture, can take that accomplishment away from you. I acknowledge your legendary status.

Now, the past is the past, but you had a good past, and you can build on that, even if the means of income is divorced from your successes of "then"

I find that Maslow's hierarchy of needs is a good place to sort through the overwhelming tide of problems that our society can generate. And if some of those are nailed down already, well there's more good news for you!

Perhaps I should dust off the survival mode thread, but for now let me assure you: You. Have. Not. Failed.

Trust me, having seen what death looks like up close, having seen how hard a body fights to stay alive even when it's no longer receiving any signals from the brain, having seen how a heart goes hugging ballistic when it realizes it is alone, trying like hell to revive everything else, giving up is incomprehensible now. If our bodies are willing to fight that hard they deserve some hugging backup.

You're stronger than you know.

...thank you. Both of you.

My skin condition has returned.

Hug my life. This jive mysteriously went dormant for a couple years, which would have been priceless if those years weren't completely consumed by my dad's sickness and the ensuing estate nightmare. Now I'm in the middle of another wave of code enforcement work with one of his houses, and suddenly the respite is over. That was it. That's what I get.

I obviously did something to piss off some god in a previous life, and instead of being sentenced to Hell I was sentenced to life in a burning flesh prison. I wish they'd tell me what I did because it must have been legendary.

One thing they don't warn you enough about with inheritance is how people will misunderstand how much you have and wonder why you don't help them with their money problems.

I got chewed out today. It was ugly.

Summer's here. Yard work is going to suck.

Same situation I was in exactly a year ago. That stings.

Uh... my code inspector has gone missing.

I hope he's okay. He's actually a great guy.

So I have not blocked my ex wife from sending me texts on my phone. I've blocked her on Facebook. We may not be together, but I still care and I want to know about the animals as well as the status of the case against her daughter's murderer.
In that vein, she texted me the other day about some details about the upcoming trial. He's going to fry and I'm here for it. But, after we get done with all of that, she randomly messages me something.

"I just realized something. You're not real. You adjust accordingly, but there is no real you."

I honestly don't know how to reconcile this. Yes, I try to be nice and put on an appropriate mask for every situation, but you would think someone who was with me for over 5 years would have noticed what was behind them. Guess not.

She has a different definition of "real" than you do.

I guess. But that just really fucked with me. Yes, I am very aware that I change how I present myself depending on circumstance and need. Like every other autist (and probably most other people) I have a mask for just about everything.
That she never recognized the moments when it was just me without any mask, when i showed the real person underneath the facade presented to the public, that hurts more than literally any of the cursing and name calling she's done.

The question becomes did she ever try? Really try? She may have just always had different goals.

No. Why would she? She had her "ex" husband who lived across the street. Was at the house every day. hug, he lived there more than I did. Why bother knowing me?

It does sound like she had a backup plan. But that's just some shallow speculation.

Frankly, she seems extremely insensitive. I know I mask most of the time and am aware that I do(Possibly autistic as well, but definately have a LOT of cptsd related anxiety). Someone saying that to me would likely send me into a spiral....

Anonymous X said:

True, just wish I didn’t have to wait at least 18 months to see a doctor to discuss medication and other options…

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Update, a lot of things happened surprisingly quickly, so been on the ADHD medication already for a month, and it’s pretty weird? First day I felt really out of it. but I’ve starting getting used to it, and when it works, it’s pretty amazing. Huge difference when trying to stay focused, and concentrate. Just not consistently. Perhaps there’s other factors at play.

(Biggest irritation is that being a controlled medication, I have to go to certain pharmacies licensed to dispense it, and there’s ID checks and stuff. I don’t enjoy having to bring my passport just to pick up a prescription.)