I am actively suicidal. I have all the motive in the world but since I don’t really want to drive Ziva into a bridge abutment, (I was hoping to give her in one piece to Keith) I have to wait until I get the ‘exit bag’ and the nitrogen tank. I have an appointment with some highly recommended psychologist, but I’ve had shitty, shitty luck getting anybody IRL to provide anything like service. My ex’s girlfriend managed to get HER psychiatrist to give me a diagnosis – without seeing me, even ! what wondrous psychiatrists they have in the US! – and my ex’s counsellor indicated (without having a therapeutic relationship with me and on the basis of seeing me once) that he figured I was nutty. Anybody who actually sees me comes to the conclusion that I am drearily sane. Does anybody besides me believe you can be drearily sane AND suicidal?
I am in constant pain, both physical and emotional. I have nothing to live for, nothing to look forward to, my fear of death has evaporated and work is the worst of it but of course if I want to keep my job for these last few measly weeks until my package arrives I have to stay quiet about it. My cat will be looked after no matter what I do, and my kids have another parent. As Robert Ingersoll once remarked, at its worst death can be nothing more than perfect rest. Ah, perfect rest. Sounds like a plan.
I’ve been telling people at work that I’m suicidal AND THEY ARE LAUGHING AT ME. Maybe they won’t find it funny if I choose to depart this life in the parking garage.
Fuck all y’all. I am out of here; I’m going home to break the news to the kids and Jeff.