By now, I’m contemplating skipping work. I’ll probably be late anyway. Besides the sluggish depressing mood, my OCD and anxiety kick in each morning adding on an extra hour before heading out the door. Why bother going to work if I’m only going to be late? Would they even notice if I weren’t there? Unfortunately, these days I know I can’t push my limits at work. I’ve been in the hospital for a week at a time, each year I’ve worked there. It’s a miracle I haven’t been fired. Anxiety starts to kick in here, telling me I’m wasting time moping around, will ruin my career, and go into debt by running late.
8 am. Another alarm rings. It’s time to take that sweet little pill that erases the feeling of not wanting to go on. I grab whatever stale soda, beer, or juice that was sitting out on the coffee table from the night before. I ceremoniously take my pill, closing my eyes, and taking in the fact that I know I won’t hate my life – in about fifteen minutes.
I go about my morning routine feeding the ever-impatient Tricks, my turtle Scotty, and checking the weather. Some days I barely get past this point. I run back to the comfort of my den and begin to fight against the pill. Life is much too dark to let some doctor brainwash me with their medicine. I think of my family and friends. The ones I promised to continue fighting for my life. Shit, I know if I start thinking about suicide at all I’ll get locked up again.