I don’t want to be where I am.
I don’t want to be alive but I am not suicidal, I guess I wish I’d just never been alive at all, but I will find a way to survive because I have to until this court date in December.
Every day this lawsuit drags on I still feel like I am a prisoner of my old boss. I cannot eat due to crippling anxiety, depression, and stress she has left me with. The resulting sensation of starvation brings me back to the hopeless feelings associated with the broke starvation that I was forced to experience when first alerted my boss to her labor violations in December of 2016 and she started intentionally withholding my paychecks shortly thereafter.
I spend my days just standing around in the same place for hours, staring into nothing (or a stupid app on my phone), feeling and hearing my stomach ache for sustenance, wishing I was not here, wishing I had never been born, a feeling I had never felt until my boss started her systematic torture.
It really pisses me the fuck off when people say they understand what I mean or that what I went through wasn’t a big deal and most people move on from these things. Nobody in the history of the world has gone through the chain of events I experienced. That is not to say I have experienced the worst trauma in the world, but it is disingenuous to even say you understand what it is like to lose fifteen pounds in four weeks while your cousin that is your boss withholds your paychecks intentionally while also giving all your coworkers their normal paycheck, a Christmas bonus, and doesn’t invite you to the holiday lunch to boot while you’re taking your dog to daily radiation treatment for his cancer south of Los Angeles International airport from northeast of Burbank every single weekday for three and a half weeks 900 miles away from all the friends and family you’ve ever known in your life just a month after your grandma passed away whom you couldn’t visit regularly because your boss who was paying you below the minimum wage didn’t allow you to have any vacation time is upset because you told her she is breaking nearly every labor law on the books in California.
I know that’s a loaded run-on sentence, and it isn’t even the whole story.
Some people may know some of the pains I am talking about and some people may know more pain than this. I am not using my trauma as a dick-measuring contest. But I do not ever try to say that I understand the pain someone else is feeling because I am not them, and I don’t want people saying they understand what I am going through. It is literally impossible to know that experience unless you lived it.
Food doesn’t taste good anymore. I used to cook for enjoyment, but now all my favorite things to cook are associated with anxiety attacks I have had and the bad memories are seared into my brain and make my appetite go away for days at a time. I have spent six hours cooking a meal that should feed me for four days and taken a few bites, not finished the rest, and watched the meal mold over til it ends up in the garbage more times than I can count.
It’s economically easier to starve myself than waste money on food. If I could get nutrition by IV, I would.
I don’t know how or why I am alive with the diet I have.
If there was a way to be put in a medically induced coma until the deposition or trial I would do it in a heartbeat. Hell, cryogenically freeze me, I’m already ice cold and mentally dead inside. I really could give a shit if I am blind when I wake up like Han Solo on Tatooine.
I miss the warmth of the Southern California sun. When you’re feeling cold and dark down there at least the sun can keep your body warm, because the cold dark rainy environment of Oregon just leaves me physically cold, my fingers numb from the lack of blood circulation made worse by a poor diet. Oregon reminds me daily of why I fucking left here. At least if it is cold in Los Angeles there are taquerias in every neighborhood to warm your soul up with authentic food unlike the bullshit hipster rip-offs of everything that exist in Portland.
I used to walk my dogs regularly when I lived down in Los Angeles until Azzurri got cancer in his leg. I do not even remember the last time I walked them that was wasn’t because they were constipated and needed to go all the way around the block instead of the 5 minutes my anxiety can manage.
Three years after moving now they’re just two depressed little animals suffering because I cannot provide them with the love and care that I used to. Lilly won’t play with any toys at all anymore and has had over twenty teeth removed because of my inability to take care of her dental needs because of the chain of depression and downward spiral I am in.
I hate who I am and what I have become. I feel ugly when I used to feel somewhat handsome enough to date regularly. I feel crazy because of the irrational behaviors this experience has left me with.
I wish I had never been born.
This is risky to post because I will never be able to apply for a job without my name being tied to this blog post, but what does it matter?
Things could be worse than they are now and holding in these feelings is already killing me inside.