Life or Death?

Warning:  The following post may be triggering to some.  It contains a discussion of suicidal thoughts.

I have a decision to make.  Do I live or do I die?

I am so sick and tired of being depressed. I don’t remember ever feeling-well, not depressed. So do I keep trying; giving it my all, or do I kill myself? This might soundlike a strange question. Basically, I have to decide whether or not life is worth living.

Because living in this in-between state that I exist in is torture. Existing without thriving is torture. Just surviving is not enough. Either I keep trying, and try every little thing I can possibly think of to get better and make something of my life, or I give up completely and end things.

Damnit, I suck with words.  I don’t think any of this truely captures what I am thinking, or how I feel right now. This is why I think therapy has been so ineffective for me. I have trouble processing my own thoughts, let alone being able to translate them into something another person could understand.  I’m only just beginning to understand myself.  And I’m not liking the person I see in the mirror.

I am selfish.  Petty and childish. Is it me or is it the worst of the Asperger’s? I don’t feel that I truely began to make procress in my recovery until after my diagnosis. Too bad it didn’t happen until just a few years ago. By then I had made so many mistakes that I began to feel that my life was unsalvagable.

Can it be saved? Is it worth saving?  I don’t know.  But I feel like I have to figure it out soon, or I’ll lose my mind.


The Direction of My Life

My depression has been very bad lately. I am disgusted with the lack of positive change in my life. When I look back at the past 15 years I am horrified at what has become of me. Where was the awesome college experience, which was supposed to lead to a Master’s degree, followed by a Doctorate? What happened to my awesome career as a scientist? What happened to moving somewhere, anywhere, other than where I am now? If I could answer these questions, I probably wouldn’t be so miserable.

I realize that this blog is a lot of me whining and moaning. Poor me, my life sucks, feel sorry for me, etc, etc. Which is not cool. I need to grow up and take some responsibility for the things that have happened to me. Yes there are many ways in which people and events have royally screwed me over, and made me miserable. It’s my own fault that that misery became permanent instead of just temporary. I need to get off my behind and do something about it. Anything.

I could write more. Blogging might lead to a career, you never know. Also, if I can’t be an environmental advocate (my career choice when I began college), then maybe I can be an advocate for mental health care reform. I have a feeling we’re gonna be needing that last one given the direction the U.S. is taking. I could also combine the two, by blogging about mental health issues. And no, I don’t mean by talking about my own personal problems all the time. I mean by doing research on current events and how they might affect people with mental illness. Or by suggesting positive changes that the healthcare system could make to better serve the mentally ill. I just need to try. Trying and failing is better than not even putting in the effort to begin with.

Busy…having a breakdown?

I feel kinda weird.  It’s hard to describe.  I’ve been doing pretty good lately; feeling pretty good.  Yet I feel keyed up and on edge. Maybe it’s the extra cup of coffee I’ve been having with lunch, or maybe it’s the type of over-stimulation that happens to anybody with Asperger’s when their routine changes.

I’ve been volunteering at the food pantry once a month for the past three months now.  Also, I’ve been helping out at the Salvation Army on Mondays and Tuesdays, helping to pack sack lunches for the school kids that normally get free or reduced lunches in school during the school year. I’ve been spending more time with friends, both old and new.  It’s  a lot for me.

So while nothing bad has been happening, STUFF has.  I’m used to a whole lot of nothing going on in my life.  It is going to take some getting used to, but it will be worth it to have a purpose and a reason for getting out of bed in the morning.  It feels good to be useful and needed by society again.







They call me a weirdo

but I’m not the only one.

So called Autistic me cares

more than I think the Normal people do.

I care so much it hurts

that they don’t care in return.


People confuse me

they say “how do you do?”

They don’t want my answer

but bombard me with theirs

forcing it upon me

like an audible rape


I won’t be rude

I’ll listen to what they have to say

Then I’ll run upstairs and hide

lie on my couch and cry

stuffing myself with food

so there’s no more room for hurt

Maybe I don’t care after all


Society seems to have made it clear that it has no place for me, at least in the work world.  This is the important part, the part that seems to determine a person’s value and worth.  I’m on disability, Supplemental Security Income under the Social Security program, since I’m unwell enough to work outside the home full time.  I would love to be able to work part time.  To do so, to transition from disability to employment, I have to go through an agency called the Bureau of Vocational Rehabilitation.  I’ve tried to get help from them before.  They don’t consider me to be the worst of the disabled, since I’m of above average intelligence.  This actually works against me, since it’s assumed that if my intelligence is not the problem, and my body functions normally (walking, talking, seeing, hearing etc,) that I should not be having the trouble that I’m having.  As if I’m somehow lazy.  At least this is the impression that I get from them, and my own family at times.

I’ve been through the Bureau’s program twice, the first time resulting in a job that I did well at, but quit after five months, after being unable to work through a dispute with my boss.  The second time, I only got so far as a supervised position with a job counselor on site, where they were able to conclude that I should not try to do any further work, since I was “unable to handle stress very well” (their words.)  Well I know I can’t handle stress very well, that’s the point!  That’s why I came to them in the first place.

I was good at school, and yet it took me 10 years to get a 4 year college degree.  I had trouble navigating the social aspect of things- attending class, living in the dorms, working with my professors.  That’s the sort of thing that continues to elude me today.  I think that I could perform the basic work requirements of many different jobs, but I don’t get along very well socially, most of the time.  Some of the time I do well enough that those working to help me are unable to see where my social deficits are.  I think that one of my problems is in dealing with conflict-if I’m having trouble with my work duties, I seem to be unable to sort it out with supervisors.  If I encounter a difficult co-worker, it sends me into a panic.  These sorts of things start my heart beating wildly, turn my adrenaline switch on, and open the floodgates of my cortisol levels.

And that’s why I’m sitting here writing, since I don’t seem to be able to do anything else for the moment.  I have been seeing my case manager, a psychiatric social worker, for the past two years, with the goal being that she would help me look for a job.  Either that, or connect me with services designed to help the disabled get back to work.  However, our communication has broken down to the point where even my therapist thinks that I should ask for a new caseworker.  I am in the position now of having to start fresh, navigating employment services on my own.  I’m completely terrified.

Social rules

Apparently, it’s o.k. for someone to show up at the front door of a stranger and tell them how depressed and lonely they are.  That’s what one of my neighbors did to me last week.  I’m depressed and lonely myself, but I’m not about to lead with that statement when trying to make a new friend. I guess that tactic worked for my neighbor though, because I’ve seen him leaving the apartments of several other neighbors, having apparently been invited in to visit.  So I guess he’s not lonely anymore.

I’m left feeling both relieved and confused.  Relieved, because I don’t have to take on the problems of someone I barely know, when I’m still trying to cope with my own.  I’m confused, however, as to why my neighbor’s approaching others in such a needy manner worked for him.  Why does he now appear to have a more active social life than myself?  Do other people enjoy listening to someone they barely known moan about how much their life sucks, when that person should be telling a professional?

And yes, I realize how ironic that sounds, since that is exactly what I’m doing with this blog.  I see a therapist weekly though, and she actually recommended that I start blogging, agreeing with me that it was fine to do so anonymously, so that possible future employers don’t find out how screwed up I am from searching my name online.


18 years worth of damage.  That’s how long I’ve been in therapy and/or on psychiatric medication.  I’ve only just, as of September this past year, found a therapist that I can begin to work with.  One who seems not only competent, but somewhat helpful.  So how long will it take her to undo the damage that past mental health care workers have inflicted?  One year?  Five?  How long do I have to wait for recovery?  With recovery meaning that I am able work part time or in a fulfilling volunteer position, with a satisfying social life.  Is it worth hanging on for that possibility, knowing that it might never happen at all?

I am told that saying things like “I’ll never get better,” or “I’ll never feel content with my life” are self-defeating, that they are something my therapist calls “future-telling.”  I cannot see into the future, so I cannot say with a certainty that I will always feel this gloomy, or so she says.  What if, however, I can infer a pattern for my life based upon past evidence of its trajectory?  According to this evidence, I might as well walk outside right now and into oncoming traffic.