The Buzz Kill Zone is worse than I thought. A couple of weeks ago, I recognized that events were triggering the feelings that ended the marriage. It was to be expected since selling the apartment and finally distributing the last of the marital assets is the last thing we'll do together as a couple, except make each other miserable.
Something about me makes him unbearably anxious, so that his typical OCD behavior becomes so driven that he moves like a robot with a rocket up his ass. Something about him makes me suicidal. If I had killed myself fifteen years ago instead of going into an institution for a little while, my mother would have blamed Buzz Kill for sure - at least she would have blamed him when she wasn't blaming herself or my father. I'm pretty sure it was fear of my mother that motivated Buzz Kill to hide the knives and stuff. Or fear of the blame anyway.
Even though I'm experiencing Buzz Kill in nearly the exact same way I experienced him fifteen years ago, he can't help the way I interpret his behavior. He's just focused on his own shit to the exclusion of everyone else around him. Maybe it's nothing more than tunnel vision, but fifteen years ago, I believed he'd be glad I was gone, and I believe it just as fully today. It's a drag because I've been absolutely stable without medication for two years, until the last couple of weeks with Buzz Kill in the apartment all the time.
The main difference now is that my duty to Velvet will be done when the apartment sells. His college money will be secured, and he will have been given a start in life. Even still, when a parent commits suicide it's bad for kids no matter how old they are or how much money is in the bank. That's why fifteen years ago, I was planning things so that it would look like an accident. Today, I was thinking that it would be bad for the kids in my class if I didn't finish out the semester - especially if there were a funeral. I hate to cause that kind of commotion, so even if I did decide I was done with this shit, I would have to wait until June when school is out. In the past, when I've decided to wait a while to kill myself, the urge would pass. I'd be glad I hadn't killed myself after all.
I'm not so sure that's going to happen this time, which means the despair is taking over. I keep telling myself, "This too shall pass." It's passed before, but now that it's back again - and it seems like I've been feeling this way off and on since Christmas vacation in Texas - I'm thinking it only passes temporarily. It's the worst when there's a wall between me and Velvet. It was awful around his eighteenth birthday, and it's awful now. I had thought that regaining his interest in Dungeons & Dragons was about him reconnecting with his comfort zone, but now it looks like a retreat into fantasy to avoid the horrible atmosphere in our home. The timing is consistent because he first got really into D&D right after the divorce, and now we're all stuck in the Buzz Kill Zone again.
As convinced as I am that Buzz Kill would be glad to see me six feet under ground, I know Velvet would be lost even if I could manage to make it look like an accident - which takes a lot of work. If I just swallowed a couple of bottles of Extra Strength Tylenol, like the teenage girls do, it would be bad for Velvet. It would be bad for my mom and dad, too. Then I think of my brother and sister, and the other people who would wonder if they should have seen it coming. I don't want to do that to anybody. It sucks to feel like you can't even kill yourself because of other people, but maybe it's a good thing they're all there. I wonder how many of us would be dead by now if it weren't for other people standing between us and the ideations.
I was thinking about going to the shrink, but when you've been to the same shrink for 17 years, you can pretty much imagine everything you'd say to each other. So I've been imagining I'm at the shrink telling her I don't want to go back on meds. I like having my feelings even if they are so intense they're alarming and often interfere with quiet conversation. Besides, by the time an antidepressant kicked in, I'll be in Texas on Spring Break watching the bluebonnets growing in the sun. Meanwhile, I suppose it's the perfect time to figure out exactly how much money Buzz Kill owes me so that I enter this final financial battle secure in the knowledge that no matter what foolishness he's got up his sleeve, I've got him by the short and curlies. At least the end is in sight - and I don' t mean the end of me. If I were really, truly ready to drink the drain-o, like I was the day I called VeryMissMary all those years ago to see if reading the Drain-O label was a bad sign, I wouldn't have written about it on the internet.
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