It was day two of my new job and I felt good. It was twenty minutes of hard work before literally standing around talking for the next 45 and I was nailing it. I had charmed the hell out of my interviewers a week prior to the point where they would swing by twice a day to sincerely ask how my day was. I had a particular set of skills after working two full time jobs from the age of 18, manufacturing and cooking if you're curious, and they were *hungry* to get me. This was a place making the soups that you see in stores and combined my work experience in a way that probably couldn't have been wished any more perfect.
I was in a full manic episode the moment I had walked in the door however. So of course I charmed them, running mental circles around anything that they put forth with the power of a brain on overdrive and sheer destiny. The Spirit guiding me had assured me that this job was in the bag. I was starting to crawl the walls a bit in my downtime though. Must always be moving. The more work the better, to the point where I was polishing machinery that got scrubbed down everyday anyway. I didn't like talking with my coworkers in any case, I saw their faces staring at me as I walked by with a look of incredible disgust. Would you talk football with them? I tried my best to ignore it but things were starting to feel incredibly hostile.
Then I got an idea. A shotgun. I was going to buy a shotgun and shoot myself. I didn't sleep that night (full mania remember) bouncing the idea around in my head. Everyone hated me, the voices told me. It was for the best of everyone that I as quickly as possible shoot myself. Googling was had, plans were made. I could have one 7 days from then and it was as simple as just swinging by on the way home. I had my RFID keycard pressed against the reader the next morning at work dressed in my sterile coverings when I had a thought
"This place kind of sucks. Does the Spirit even know what it's doing?......Spirit.....guiding. GOD FUCKING DAMMIT"
The voices always had a 'tinny' quality to them for some reason. I had asked my Psychologist about it once but she brushed it off in favor of running her script, crazy people weren't supposed to know they were crazy after all. I could always tell them apart from myself for some reason and I had learned to ignore them. It was a weird source of pride in a way knowing I avoided jail, drug or death paths that so many people afflicted with mental illness end up on. Most of that rested in my ability to separate my reality from everyone else's. I learned to smile and power through the horror of psychosis albeit with the consequence of having to withdrawal from other people as much as I could. Other people gave it something to feed off of you see, it's much more effective to turn my loved ones against me. An 'It' despite me going about my life knowing that it was nothing more than an organ's wiring going very, very wrong. I could feel it slither about on occasion but I could ignore it.
I didn't talk to anyone the rest of the day as I tried to think. I had let the voice in without a second thought. I had never done that and it was utterly horrifying for the past couple of days to suddenly become clear. I realized that I was in full psychosis and actively suicidal and powering through the rest of the week for the paycheck before never stepping foot in there again. More as an act of survival instinct than anything else I guess. Stress and new places had bad effects on how grounded my mental state was from experience. I ended up just working my old full time cooking job for the next year.
Mania->Depression turned into Mania->mixed states. I never came down after that, just whip lashing from feeling like God to feeling like the Devil. I just wanted to say something I've never said in a non-medical setting. Which is how utterly broken my brain is, how the person that people seem to like for some reason is a complete nutcase. I had pulled something resembling an ordinary life from Hell and people knowing was a danger to that. That's not a problem now I suppose. I've depersonalized to the point where privacy seems silly. I told people a sanitized version of why I left of course but I'm still not sure of how much of what happened was all in my head. For all the harm that I'm about to do to the ones I love I think somebody needs to understand why I'm going through with this.
I can no longer care for myself, as anyone stepping foot in my apartment will quickly agree with. Living half in reality for the past year has carried a heavy price that I can't pay anymore. As plans turned into holding the bottle in my hand I felt something that I didn't expect. I felt relief rather than fear. I tried, I really did. I fought a battle worthy of a medieval epic against the fate that I knew was coming eventually. It was....always...eventual though. There was always going to be a pit one day that I was never going to be able to climb out of. After a year of psychosis and brushing my teeth maybe twice even I can see the paths that lead from here. Paths that I have no interest in exploring.
I've seen flashes here and there of what I could have been if my mental state didn't vaporize itself on a regular time schedule. Man that would have been awesome if my brains check engine light didn't pop on when I was 12. I had a dream once that felt painfully realistic, waking up next to my wife with children playing in the next room. I hope that's waiting for me when I go to sleep.
But enough of my rambling. My bus is pulling up. I'm going to have a smoke then mix up a drink. I'm going to be especially careful not to add 20g SN to 100ml of water to go with my zantac. I'm also going to be extremely careful not to dissolve a further 20g in DMSO for the purpose of rubbing it on particularly thin skin.
I have roughly 13 hours before I'm missed with almost zero possibility of being walked in on before then. If I oversleep on the bus and wake up in a strange place I'll be sure to post about my experiences. Otherwise, please ban me in roughly 10 hours. Or now if you wish, but it would be nice to talk to someone for a little bit.
Well that's awkward, but im used to that. I'm 4 minutes in and feeling funny. no nausea
I was in a full manic episode the moment I had walked in the door however. So of course I charmed them, running mental circles around anything that they put forth with the power of a brain on overdrive and sheer destiny. The Spirit guiding me had assured me that this job was in the bag. I was starting to crawl the walls a bit in my downtime though. Must always be moving. The more work the better, to the point where I was polishing machinery that got scrubbed down everyday anyway. I didn't like talking with my coworkers in any case, I saw their faces staring at me as I walked by with a look of incredible disgust. Would you talk football with them? I tried my best to ignore it but things were starting to feel incredibly hostile.
Then I got an idea. A shotgun. I was going to buy a shotgun and shoot myself. I didn't sleep that night (full mania remember) bouncing the idea around in my head. Everyone hated me, the voices told me. It was for the best of everyone that I as quickly as possible shoot myself. Googling was had, plans were made. I could have one 7 days from then and it was as simple as just swinging by on the way home. I had my RFID keycard pressed against the reader the next morning at work dressed in my sterile coverings when I had a thought
"This place kind of sucks. Does the Spirit even know what it's doing?......Spirit.....guiding. GOD FUCKING DAMMIT"
The voices always had a 'tinny' quality to them for some reason. I had asked my Psychologist about it once but she brushed it off in favor of running her script, crazy people weren't supposed to know they were crazy after all. I could always tell them apart from myself for some reason and I had learned to ignore them. It was a weird source of pride in a way knowing I avoided jail, drug or death paths that so many people afflicted with mental illness end up on. Most of that rested in my ability to separate my reality from everyone else's. I learned to smile and power through the horror of psychosis albeit with the consequence of having to withdrawal from other people as much as I could. Other people gave it something to feed off of you see, it's much more effective to turn my loved ones against me. An 'It' despite me going about my life knowing that it was nothing more than an organ's wiring going very, very wrong. I could feel it slither about on occasion but I could ignore it.
I didn't talk to anyone the rest of the day as I tried to think. I had let the voice in without a second thought. I had never done that and it was utterly horrifying for the past couple of days to suddenly become clear. I realized that I was in full psychosis and actively suicidal and powering through the rest of the week for the paycheck before never stepping foot in there again. More as an act of survival instinct than anything else I guess. Stress and new places had bad effects on how grounded my mental state was from experience. I ended up just working my old full time cooking job for the next year.
Mania->Depression turned into Mania->mixed states. I never came down after that, just whip lashing from feeling like God to feeling like the Devil. I just wanted to say something I've never said in a non-medical setting. Which is how utterly broken my brain is, how the person that people seem to like for some reason is a complete nutcase. I had pulled something resembling an ordinary life from Hell and people knowing was a danger to that. That's not a problem now I suppose. I've depersonalized to the point where privacy seems silly. I told people a sanitized version of why I left of course but I'm still not sure of how much of what happened was all in my head. For all the harm that I'm about to do to the ones I love I think somebody needs to understand why I'm going through with this.
I can no longer care for myself, as anyone stepping foot in my apartment will quickly agree with. Living half in reality for the past year has carried a heavy price that I can't pay anymore. As plans turned into holding the bottle in my hand I felt something that I didn't expect. I felt relief rather than fear. I tried, I really did. I fought a battle worthy of a medieval epic against the fate that I knew was coming eventually. It was....always...eventual though. There was always going to be a pit one day that I was never going to be able to climb out of. After a year of psychosis and brushing my teeth maybe twice even I can see the paths that lead from here. Paths that I have no interest in exploring.
I've seen flashes here and there of what I could have been if my mental state didn't vaporize itself on a regular time schedule. Man that would have been awesome if my brains check engine light didn't pop on when I was 12. I had a dream once that felt painfully realistic, waking up next to my wife with children playing in the next room. I hope that's waiting for me when I go to sleep.
But enough of my rambling. My bus is pulling up. I'm going to have a smoke then mix up a drink. I'm going to be especially careful not to add 20g SN to 100ml of water to go with my zantac. I'm also going to be extremely careful not to dissolve a further 20g in DMSO for the purpose of rubbing it on particularly thin skin.
I have roughly 13 hours before I'm missed with almost zero possibility of being walked in on before then. If I oversleep on the bus and wake up in a strange place I'll be sure to post about my experiences. Otherwise, please ban me in roughly 10 hours. Or now if you wish, but it would be nice to talk to someone for a little bit.
Well that's awkward, but im used to that. I'm 4 minutes in and feeling funny. no nausea
Last edited:
