Toastie Plays The ‘This Was Written A Long Time Ago So Don’t Get Freaked Out’ Game

As I did a few weeks ago, I’m pasting in an old journal entry, with some stuff censored so as not to reveal sensitive details. I can’t quite articulate why, on Novemer 30, 2008, it is important for me to share this.

If there were, hypothetically, 100 chemical conditions in the human brain that were necessary for one to act on suicidal thoughts, I’ve got most of them. I’ll never have all of them. So no worries. I am not going to kill myself…

That being said, I can so understand why others do. I’m in one of those 10/10 depressions now. There is no way out of it other than time. I will get to sleep eventually tonight, and I’ll probably be down to an 8 or a 6 or a 4 or a 2 when I awake after an extended sleep session sometime around noon or so.

At the moment, though, what does a 10/10 feel like?

Like I wish I could somehow let the world know that I almost wish I were dead, and that letting the world know would cause someone to be able to do something about it. Thing is, I know no one can do anything. My therapist can’t do anything. I called X earlier tonight, when I had had a fair amount to drink at […] and sat in a parking lot pondering what stupid thing I might do next. I don’t really think I needed to call X to prevent me from doing anything stupid. X had no magic words. And as I tell X when X asks me a question like, “Why is it that you suppose you don’t cry here [in session]?” and I say that I pay X. Even if X cares about me, it’s all based on me paying for the service of having X listen. It’s not much different than paying a prostitute for physical intimacy. You pay a therapist to listen to you. It’s not “real”. I don’t break down and cry in front of my therapist because, ultimately, if I stop paying X, X is not going to be there to listen to me anymore.

Anyway…I have no emailed or called anyone else tonight to vent to..there is no one.

I have stared at my computer, tabbed back and forth between […] and […], trying to figure out some one who’d be able to…I don’t f*cking know…there is no one….

I was going to try to explain what 10/10 depression was like…
– The almost wanting to kill self
– Hating self
– Seeing no hope for meaningful improvement
– Inability to do anything else other than ruminate on the depression
– The weight of every sadness, failure, disappointment…it all seems unbearable

This is my life, much of the time. Very few people understand this. No one can do anything about it.

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