Knocking on heaven's door...lightly

I'm not feeling particularly good these days. Reasons for not wanting to be alive are stacking up. I am making an effort to not succumb to the idea of just giving in completely. That effort translates into keeping up the minimum routines, including this stupid blog.

Not that I get any particular satisfaction or sense of accomplishment from unloading or uploading my words into the ether. I do it with a sense of resignation that this is, I guess, what I do. Birds sing, dogs bark (if they feel inclined) and I spew my petty emotions into the stratosphere via electronic typewriting.

Some days I can't even do that.

I have an appointment today with a shrink. An actual psychiatrist, aka drug pusher, in my estimation. The only reason I'm going is to be evaluated as to my alleged need for anti-depressants in my life. I don't believe in them, refuse to take them, hate the effects they have had on me in the past. I think I'd probably rather just die than experience some further zombification of my psyche.

I'd rather take a dose of psychedelic mushrooms. The problem is, I can't even face the idea of doing that without my anxiety and negative thinking kicking in. I need to rewire my brain, but I don't have a schematic. Taking off the cover and disconnecting and reconnecting wires at random doesn't sound like a good idea. I don't have faith in the idea of a benevolent universe that is going to be my teacher if I just get out of my own way.

But I am getting desperate to escape my self-created hell. Day after day, muddling around in my own little world, watching my little empire crumble, is killing me. I can’t go back into the past, and the future promises that things will only continue to get worse if I stay on this present course. 

My current thinking pattern has me locked into a downward spiral and baby steps aren’t cutting it. Things have gone downhill too far, for too long. There becomes a point of irretrievability, which I fear I may be already past.

Taking mushrooms seems less drastic than committing suicide. But the two might not be mutually exclusive ideas if the drug doesn’t have the desired effect. A bad trip might lead to further negativity, and the drugs might lessen my inhibitions about taking that final drastic step. Or I might get a free one-day pass to the boarded up Disneyland areas in my brain, unlocking the possibility of enjoying something for a change.

The time for a decision is near. I have motive, means and opportunity. And I’m not currently doing anything with my life. I have the keys in my hand. I just don’t know what’s behind the door.

I think about Uncle Steve sometimes, and his drastic choice. I despised his decision at the time. Now, I can relate. I only wish I could talk to him about it now to find out how it all panned out for him. Does he regret killing himself? 

Oh, wait. I can’t, he’s dead. And I can’t see dead people, if in fact that is even a thing. Maybe he doesn’t exist any longer, and he is incapable of even have anything to regret. You know, due to the whole non-existence thing.

I know for certain that day will come for me as well, like it did for Sharon. Despite her keeping a firm grasp on life and all of her positivity, it happened. She couldn’t fight it any longer and just had to let go. 

I wish I could talk to her about it and find out if she’s still skeptical about the afterlife. The psychics have all told me she’s having a great time. I still haven’t gotten my heart and head to believe, as much as I might want to.

And knowing that my death is inevitable doesn’t make me feel the immediate need to “make it happen.” I will find out soon enough, I guess. But I do wonder what the hell I’m doing still hanging around here. It seems like I stopped living quite a while ago.