Voices inside my head echo things that you say

 You IDIOT.  You have the nerve.  The nerve to talk to her that way, with everything she does, everything she says, and you just throw away the filter, and dump it out there.  So when will you get hold of yourself and realize, you just have to shut the fuck up?  You fancy yourself this "writer".  You're better at it than talking.  That doesn't mean you can boast about it at all in any way.  The best way you can equal what you say verbally with what you write is to just be quiet.  Be.  Quiet.

It's been since February that I've self-harmed.  That's quite the milestone for me.  I've come close a few times, though.  

First, tell any potential readers you might just bore the shit out of them with this.  You've heard it already from some.  Why are you even writing this to begin with?  

To keep a record of my thought processes as I'm trying to figure out why I'm even existing.  That maybe I'll come across a professional that would help one day.  Although I did try that with a 'counselor', where I invited them to read one of these things and was met with silence and no callback after that; desertion.

That's kind of pathetic, isn't it?  Why are you doing This?  Because no one else will?

I'm doing this because no one else will.  I can talk to my wife, but how much more can I make her carry?  I'm already on disability.  Bringing in half of what I used to.  She rather insisted I not work if it means that I'll live.  I just don't really feel like I'm "living".  I'm surviving.  Outside of my wife, I don't contribute very significantly to anyone else's life.  Except maybe my cat.

At the gym the other day, you spoke to your wife on the next treadmill when you were working out.  She couldn't hear you, and you got short with her.  You know she's not great at hearing sometimes, it's not a big deal.  But you seemed to make it that way at that moment.  So, seriously...what will it take?  What will it take for you to grow the fuck up?

I recognized that happened when she gave me a 'look' that I saw last November when I took a major anxiety attack, and she blurted out my full name.  This time she didn't strike me so it shouldn't be a big deal, but I took it upon myself, again, that I ought to punish myself for it.  Except I didn't.  Rather, I'm trying to suppress any emotion that might come out.  I deserved to be slapped last November with 'the look'.  I also deserved to punish myself, but I shouldn't have.  I thought I might be growing up a little more now that I got through almost five months of not harming myself.  

So you want credit for not hurting yourself.  Makes a lot of sense. (sarcasm)

She gives me credit for that.  But I wind up faltering when I impulsively react sometimes.  People slip; I just slip too much, in my own judgment.  

You seem to think you did good work with that last job you had.  You had a boss who told you many times how he valued you.  But you know the truth there.  You could have been better.  When the new boss came in, and things changed rapidly, you couldn't adapt, and you broke.  Nobody else did.

Others left.  I wasn't missed, though.  At all.  I worked there for over ten years.  The last thing I heard from them was they wanted a letter of resignation.  I gave it to them, and I heard nothing since.  Basically, "good riddance".  I'm left feeling like I'm incapable.  The fact that I took so many anxiety attacks at work over the last several years forced me to believe I wasn't good enough, and basically, the new management agreed.

If you never heard anything, then that has to mean you AREN'T missed.  You WEREN'T that good at it.  Maybe you're just not good enough at anything.  Including being a husband or father or friend or sibling.

It's true I'm not good at any of those.

You're not good at much.  Fucking things up, though, you're great at that!  High five!

People will tell me that I just have to stop telling myself these things.  I don't feel this way all the time.  It's when I screw up that the avalanche comes.  I have neurological deficiencies that I truly, frustratingly, don't know how to deal with.  But everyone seems to think I just have to change my mindset.  As if I would have done that long ago if it were that easy.  If you have two construction workers, one with brand new power tools and a support system, and the other who has manual tools and is a novice and always will be, it's not hard to guess which one will get more done. I am that novice.  I am that novice that unwittingly elicits pity and just longs to be normal, but can't grasp the fact that I never will be.

So, best to just lie around when the wife is at work and hope things will magically turn around, then.  She comes home, patient as she is every single day, you spring to life a little bit until it's bedtime, and you lay awake while I tell you all this stuff you already know.  Now you're actually blogging it.  Will anyone read it?

Probably not.  I don't think this is the kind of blog I want to actually announce, so it'll have to be 'stumbled upon'.  I thought the psychiatrist I used to have kind of cared, but even he gave up on me.  Like my last counselor.

Oh, poor fucking you.  So this is a 'hail Mary'?

No.  

Then why do it?  Why bother?

It's a lottery ticket.  I know I won't win.  But I need that tiny glimmer of hope.

You think others might clue into this and actually understand more?

No.  This past week that was made clearer than ever.

Maybe you don't want to be understood.

I want to be understood more than anything.  My doctor kind of does and my wife does, mostly.  I'm out of words to convey it.  

Maybe you're not worth understanding.

.....

If you're on disability, why can't you just embrace that you're understood to the point that there are others that understand your need to be on it, and just try to live?

And just accept that I'm useless?

Yes!!  Don't burn out, just fade away.  

I've already removed myself from the lives of a lot of those who I sense are fed up with me.  I can't be a burden to anyone.  I won't be.

Are you going to imply you're suicidal?  That's just pathetic.

I'm not suicidal.  But I retain my being pathetic.  I guess that's part of the sentence.  I'm not a very good guy.  I deserve to be ostracised.  Up front, I'll do what I can to make people think everything is fine.  In my dreams, I always seem to be alone, or abandoned.  Might as well live out my dreams.