I’m only here to jot down a memory I just had. I am NOT suicidal right now! I’m just remembering things because of my little mis-hap with Facebook a little while ago.
I remembered something that I don’t think I’ve told anybody.? I don’t remember telling anybody, but if I spoke with my therapist or psychiatrist around that time, I might have told them. But I don’t recall it. You might be the first people I’ve told. It hasn’t crossed my mind a single time since I moved.
It must have been shortly before my divorce, because that’s when I was having bloodwork run, I asked the phlebotomist to kill me. In hindsight, I’m not sure how I got up the nerve to actually ask that. What a strange memory of such a bad time. I asked her if she would please inject some air into my vein so long as she was there with a needle anyway, and assured her that nobody would be able to tell it was her. She didn’t seem to understand what I was saying. She finished her job, I got up and left. I promptly forgot about it. Later that evening, I got a call from the hospital. My phlebotomist had reported the conversation. They were calling to check in. I was still severely depressed but I must have talked with my psychiatrist or therapist or was about to the next morning or something. I don’t remember the details of that, but I remember I had either seen or was about to see somebody and was feeling like I’d make it that far without any problems. So that was that.
P.S. It’s weird to think that I didn’t even care. I wasn’t relieved and I wasn’t disappointed that she did not respond to my request at the time. It was just nothing. If she had complied, I also wouldn’t have felt relieved or disappointed. I didn’t feel anything but emotional pain at that point.
P.P.S. Tell you what. I don’t even know for sure that this is the time right before my divorce. This could very well have been from the time before that, the first set of blood tests I had to have run because of a poor choice I made, and closer to the start of the beginning of the end of the relationship. That almost seems more likely. That would have been the time when the shit was hitting the fan. That would have been the time when I was so afraid of what was going to happen when realization set in. But I know I was saying suicidal things before the divorce. I wish I could remember. Even though I’ll probably just forget it again anyway, I wish I had the whole story in my head, right this second, so I could study it and understand it. But it’ll just go away again anyway. The past is the past is the past. It’s just become the present for a brief moment, but soon I’ll lock it all back away where it belongs, in little, far-away bits of my brain that I don’t access much.