Avoid the Void


Suddenly, you get the news that your elderly mother is having surgery the exact day as your divorce hearing.

You start to cry hysterically and have an almost instant panic attack.

Maybe it’s best if we try to shut down a bit, your emotions whisper.

Yes, you whisper back.

Perhaps you don’t really have to go to the divorce hearing, I mean, there’s nothing to say. Relationship is done, over and finished. Let a judge do what they do without your input, who gives a fuck?

I need to protect myself, I’m fucking tired of being strong, if one more person tells me that I got this, I’m gonna lose my shit…

I’m so tired, I’m just gonna sleep.

It’s like I’m living in a movie, it’s all make believe.

Numb myself, smoke a bunch of weed, watch Netflix. Avoid the void.

Dear God, please make my mom feel better, even for a short time.

Help me feel nothing.


Lost Days & Panic Attacks

Every once in a while, I’ll have what I like to call one of my “lost days.”


I had one of those yesterday. I was awake long enough to talk with my mom for a few minutes, then my boyfriend brought me dinner. I was able to stay coherent long enough to dine with him for a mere two hours, then right after he left, it was back to bed with my exhausted ass.

I’ll wake up if:

I need to go pee or poop.

Well, that’s pretty much it.

I had a panic attack Thursday night at the bowling alley. I support my boyfriend and his teammates on their all men league. Since I dislike aggressive men (and there are plenty of them there, full of competitiveness) I’ll sometimes find it difficult to filter out the combative vibes.

My boyfriend doesn’t really grasp my empath¬†ways and unfortunately, his alpha male personality towards others occasionally triggers me. I suck up feelings and sadly, I don’t always have control over it.

I took an extra dose of my anxiety medications due to the anxiety attack and I can’t help but wonder if the whole shebang helped manifest my “lost day.”

I am in desperate need of a therapist, but because of my health insurance, finding one that accepts Medicare isn’t all that simple, not to mention that if I did locate someone who did, I’d have to pay out-of-pocket for at least 20% (if not more) of each session. I can’t afford that.

I am currently doing the mental health stuff all on my own and it’s not going well.

I’m still having suicidal thoughts, although they are low-pressure. They come in and I entertain them for a few minutes, then off they go into whatever dark place that they came from to begin with.

My mom is sick, extremely sick. The doctors have no clue what is wrong with her, so there’s nothing that can be done.

It’s breaking my heart and most assuredly adding to my depression and anxiety.

Maybe asshat realized just how fucked up I am and that’s why he did me the way that he did. I can’t help but to feel this way, especially since he filed for divorce first and put down “incompatible” as the reason why our marriage will soon be officially ending.

I’m not going to the hearing. What are they gonna do, arrest me?

I’ll pay the money (it’s always about the money) and then that will be it. An entire 15 years of my life, all gone and flushed down the toilet.

I don’t want to fucking see him and his new girlfriend. If that makes me a coward, then so be it.

Of Dead and Morbid Things

My bills are paid. I have food to eat, a place to live (I wanna move so badly!) and a decent car. I have great people in my life who love and care about me.

I own at least 25 pairs of fuzzy socks. My dogs are loyal (although oftentimes difficult for me to care for due to my chronic pain ick) and I love them dearly.

Then why, I ask, am I so damned anxious and still experiencing suicidal thoughts, especially in the morning?

That’s a great question and I betcha that there’s a few of you who are reading this that might relate to what I am putting down here.


Some days are much better than others.

I’ll notice myself recoiling at the thought of dispatching myself. I have too much to do! It’s not over yet, I’m still kind of young. I still have a chance to make up my past mistakes and being so miserable for the greater majority of my 15 years with asshat.


Getting cracks in at the expense of asshat will never get old. Expect to see more.

I have dreams to fulfill, jokes to laugh at, hugs to give and to receive. I might even have a grandchild someday, you never know. I’ve got tons of love stockpiled up to dole out to a good man who finally wants and deserves it.


I think we look happy together.

I should want to be alive!

Living with fibromyalgia isn’t easy, in fact it’s downright exhausting. But seriously, it’s far more pleasant than fighting with a brain that just won’t get the fucking hint that life is still worth living.

I’ve tried it all going on close to ten years now. Group therapy, one-on-one talk therapy, outpatient, inpatient, drugs, supplements, kale suppositories…yet I continue to deal with this unwanted pest that keeps whispering of dead and morbid things.

Since I was just a kid, might I add. Is this just the way that I was made? Is there no hope to rid myself of these intruding, destructive thoughts?

Should I just learn to live with it and hope that perhaps in my next life I’ll be a perky, happy person who has never been depressed a day in their life?

*True story, I had someone tell me that a few years back and that they had no idea how I could feel the way that I did. All I could do was restrain¬†myself from saying, “bite me.”

It’s the worst feeling to chronically daydream about all of the various ways to off yourself.


I have a “suicide buddy” that I contact when I start to get overtaken with these thoughts. It’s pure mutual understanding and no judgement, no overreacting and no threatening to call 911. We’re able to be as detailed as we’d like, without any restrictions.


It goes both ways. Usually one of us are in better form that particular day to help talk the other one down.

It’s not an easy topic to openly discuss at the family get-together or with someone who will freak easily and call the funny farm.

I’m excellent at hiding it…after all, I’ve had over 30 years of practice.