I can’t be the only person who’s default back-up plan is “I should kill myself.”
No matter how well I do at work, I keep slipping, my illness keeps encroaching and it’s hard to juggle all the pieces with the illness yammering in the background, making it hard to concentrate.
I worked so, so hard in March, I got 109% productivity, and I burned myself out so much that my productivity is hovering around 80% (Though I had four days off this month) and my notes are so far behind that my boss today said that it was “grounds for termination.” I got five days caught up so far, with four to go once I can feel my wrists again. I have Friday off because DAMMIT I need a three-day weekend.
I had to cancel my convention this year because of Hasbro deciding they didn’t want any 3rd party vendors, which is what I am, and once I cancelled my booth and lodging, they changed their mind on fanart, so I could’ve gone after all. This threw me into a downward spiral, prompting my usual April/May downswing to start really early in April. I feel like crap. I constantly want to die. Concentrating on notes is damn near impossible. I’m on my last chance, and I feel like I blew it this week, because I couldn’t fix everything in four days, most notably, my notes, though I curbed the chronic lateness and dreaded socializing and tried to buckle down to get paperwork done (of which I got a ton of other bits done, notes were just lowest on my priority list, as everything else sent to me was noted with ZOMG MUST BE DONE NOW.)
Last Thursday I had to research how to request reasonable accommodations at a job under the Americans with Disabilities Act. Finding the Job Accommodation Network and speaking with a counselor helped a LOT to get my thoughts organized. I wrote out the things I struggle with and discussed it with my boss on Friday. I tried so damn hard to knock out everything we talked about this week alone, and yet my efforts seem to be in vain. All I can see when I close my eyes is being walked out the door, because my agency is good at that…
If I don’t have a job, I can’t really move, but I can’t stay here, my roommate is getting married, and things are tense as usual. If I don’t have a job, I can’t afford my medication or my doctors.
Losing my job is a death sentence. I can’t lose it. I don’t have anywhere else to turn. Student loans and credit card debt is eating me alive. My car is only a little more than half paid off. Trying to find an apartment I can afford is driving me nuts.
I wish I could sleep. Rest might help…
But every time I close my eyes, I start thinking of another of fifty reasons why I need to be panicking or planning new ways to kill myself.
A hospitalization now would pretty much spell disaster for my job, which in turn would spell disaster in my life.
I just want to give up…