Unsent Letter #2 - No Date

I called the corporate mental services hotline and got phone-screened by a health professional. She made an appointment, and I talked to a counselor later in the week.

I've got another appointment for next Tuesday at 9:45pm, and she's working on getting me a slot with a psychiatrist. Not sure if that's going to be a full-on eval or if it's pharmaceutical follow-up. We'll find out.

Doing better. Able to laugh a little. Was in quite a good mood thismorning, but it crashed later in the day. I was bitched out in the first thirty minutes of my being at work.

I saw a movie last night: Insomnia. In the end, the main character, who has not slept the entire movie, is fatally wounded. Another character is telling him to hold on, not give up. And he says, "Just let me sleep,"and closes his eyes.

I know you're supposed to be hoping he pulls through, but I was screaming inside, "LET HIM GO!" He wanted to die! It's weird being familiar withthat feeling. I'm not entirely sure I'm glad to have that new perspective. It's a tough one.

Anyway, the counselor started me on two kinds of therapy, and wants to start a third. She's doing office sessions (likely to switch over to the psychiatrist when that time comes). She's also got me reading a bookcalled "Feeling Good" that's essentially CBT for depression. No problem
convincing me of its effectiveness. Works with OCD, should work with depression. The third is she'd like to start me on antidepressants, and key them in with something that would also treat OCD. This way it's two birds with one stone (as opposed to one bird with multiple stones, which is often what happens when treating stuff like this.)

I'm not sure how I feel about all this. Part of me (a BIG part) still thinks my family would be a lot better off if I bit it and they got the insurance money. Paying off the house and cars alone would set them up on their financial feet. I mean, their monthly out of pocket would go from
about $4k to about $1k in one fell swoop. I'd at least be useful. I'd do SOMETHING of merit that way. The way things are going right now, I just don't feel like I'm doing much to be proud of.

It's still weird to walk around here after knowing I tried to kill myself, no matter how much I botched it. Part of me died Saturday. It's gone. My feet move, but there's part of me that's not moving with them.

The hardest thing is that I can't tell anyone. I'm sorry, finding out someone you know has tried to kill themselves just 100% changes how you feel about them. It does. If my spouse knew they were married to someone who had actively tried to kill themselves while the whole familly was playing in another room, you can't tell me they wouldn't have doubts about the person. If my father knew I'd done this, how would he feel? I doubt very much if he'd ostracize me. But I don't know if he'd 100% understand, either. Maybe he would. I don't know. My brother and sister? I can't even begin to say. I don't know them that well any more.

Tell my friends at that job I'm trying to get? Oh hell, kiss my chances of employment goodbye.

And that's partly what's bugging me. I *KNOW* for *CERTAIN* that had they picked me for the OMT position, I'd have been fine. I'd have self-worth. I'd have helped my family. I'd have made a difference. I'd be able to point at something and say, "Look! I HAVE done something of merit." But they didn't. And the hiring manager hasn't even called to tell me to fuck off. The other guy got the job weeks ago. The other guy accepted it a week and a half ago. The TO job is going to close without my even having been given the choice. I don't know when I'll be told. I don't even know if.

Some small part of me is hoping they're looking for headcount to get me a job out there. Some small part of me keeps thinking they're trying to work something out so they get to keep me AND the other guy. Some small part ofme is seriously setting myself up for getting fucked in the head when I finally do talk to the hiring manager and find out from the horse's mouth.

Finding out they hired the other guy is pretty much what set me up to try to kill myself Saturday.

Unsent Letter #1 - Tue, May 28, 2002

Last Saturday I tried to kill myself. It's pretty laughable in hindsight. I tried to choke myself with a towel. Of course when I started to black out, my arms went slack.

It's amazing how much pressure you need to put on your throat to cut off the air. Blood flow goes almost immediately. (I'm assuming it was outgoing blood flow, since the carotid arteries are buried pretty deep, but the jugular veins are right below the surface.)

It was pretty impulsive, seeing as how I've been thinking this over for months to a year now. Seems to come and go. It just came pretty strongly Saturday morning. This voice just kept saying, "Do it! See if you really would! Do it!" So I did. Didn't do much good, I guess.

It did kinda scare me, though. I've never been actively suicidal before. Passively maybe. But actively? I don't know. This is the first attempt I can remember.

I had another breakdown this morning. Just kinda hit me that maybe this is it. Maybe this is all I'm going to get out of life: to be miserable for the rest of my time here. I don't know if I want relief so much as just cessation. Cessation would be nice.

I ran across a site this morning saying I should just run or jog my way to happiness because of all the neato nifty endorphins you get from running. Yeah fucking right.

Ran across another site from a military base talking about burnout in caregivers and people in service industries in the military. It was eye-opening. The major writing the article equated burnout to forms of shell-shockedness. (I forget the term he used.) The symptoms are the same. In some cases, he said, it leads to situational, limited depression. In others major depression sets in (like what I've got.)

The major made a distinction between people with hysterical personalities, who might threaten suicide in order to manipulate people around them to change things, and people with obsessive-compulsive personalities, who are more likely just to quietly go off and get it over with.

Greeeeat. And here I sit with TS and OCD. And I quietly walked out of the room where my family was, and tried to choke myself to death with a towel. I hate to get into the self-analysis game, but that's just too close for coincidence. Greeeeat. I don't know what I feel now. I tried to call the hiring manager this morning for that job I applied for, and he refused my call. He's going to call after lunch. I don't know what to think. The other guy accepted the job last fucking Wednesday. Last Wednesday! Two days he didn't call, then a three day weekend, then no call again and he won't pick up when I do call.

I figured he'd have wanted to go ahead and talk to me and get it the @#$#@$ out of the way. I don't know what's going through his head right now.

Something else that kinda worries me about my "attempt" Saturday morning is the methodology: Up 'till now I've been justifying these feelings with thoughts of an insurance payout for my family. I know if I die of natural causes while I'm still working hre, our house is paid off, both our cars are paid off, our consolidation loan's paid off, AND my family would get two years salary, a total of almost $180,000. They'd have to pay taxes on it, but that would set them up for at least two years. If they sold my stuff, they'd be in good shape.

But none of that happens if it's obviously a suicide attempt. And I'm sorry, nothing about wrapping a towel around your neck tourniquet-style and cranking down on it looks accidental in the least. I jeopardized my one rationalization. It would've left my family stranded, high, and dry. But for some reason I did it anyway.

Which makes me wonder what my motives really are. My guess is I'm just too damn depressed to want to go on. I don't know. I really don't.

Letters Never Sent

Over the years I have sent myself mail, by way of a diary entry, or at least begun to compose mail to myself. Some of it was good, most of it was not. Some dealt with subjects I would gladly revisit, others dealt with times and places I'd rather leave in the past.

Nonetheless I need to give these writings voice before they are lost for good. Some only exist as unsent mail messages, living on a mail server somewhere. Others are carefully saved on disk. I now post them here.

Hearing Loss Sucks

Along with the TS and OCD I'm pretty sure I have an auditory processing disorder. I've been this way since I was in elementary school, so for the most part I've got my coping mechanisms down.

But recently I've really started losing my hearing. APD and hearing loss are different beasts. With APD I can't necessarily understand what people are saying, but I can hear them. Drop me in the woods and I can tell you where the snake is moving through the brush or where the deer is walking. Put me in a restaurant and I won't be able to tell you what the person across the table is saying unless you let me lip-read.

The recent hearing loss has come on as a nasty ringing in my ears, sensitivity to high frequency sound, and an overall loss at other frequencies. It has thrown me for a loop because so much of how I understand human speech right now depends on those frequencies, and my ability to perceive speech is already limited at best.

It may not be permanent, though. I recently injured my lower back and was put on high doses of ibuprofen as an anti-inflamatory. Turns out ibuprofen is ototoxic, and can cause all of the recent symptoms I've been experiencing. The loss is usually reversible, given time. So I'm going off the ibuprofen and trying to limit my exposure to screamingly loud sounds. Only time will tell at this point.

The real bummer isn't that I can't understand other people. That's always been there. It just got worse. The real bummer is that I can't listen to music any more. It's painful. My MP3 player is put away until I recover, and the stereo at home has been left off for days. It sucks. This had better not be permanent.

A Mental High

The licensing issues worked out well. No gap in software usability, and everything is working great. I got to play with the software some more, and ran into a major snag on a project. The support team for the software didn't have a fix, but offered a suggestion. On a whim I used their suggestion, tried another command in concert with it, and basically got what I was actually after. I posted the results to their support forum, where I'd originally asked the question. I hope it's well received.

Aside from the learning curve, I do have to say that this is one of the more impressive programs I've used. It's a 3D CAD/CAM program. There's something unreal about being able to design in 3D. There's something even more unreal about being able to take those designs, turn them into toolpaths, and make those parts. Until now I've never had the ability to visualize designs this way, except by using pencil and paper (no pun intended). Even more, it lets you check for interference between parts, tooling problems, etc. It's unreal.

The title of this posting may seem a little strong. Yes, I know what it feels like to get high. I know what it feels like to inadvertently overdose on prescription medication and go beyond high and on into comatose. Given the choice I'll take this kind of high: Knowing I can create something, pulling ideas out of my head and giving them form and function, and then making those ideas reality. So no, the title isn't that much of an overstatement. It's fantastic.

The current project I'm working on is a set of touch probes for my mill. I am by no means pushing the limits of what this software will do on this project. The parts and toolpaths are actually quite simple compared to other things I've done. But it will expand what I can do with it and close the loop from conception to physical reality and back.

Here's an example of something that could use a touch probe: Have you ever had a favorite pen or pencil? One that really fit your hand? Let's take that a step farther. What if you had a pen or pencil that really was designed specifically for your hand, your grip, your writing style?

Start with a wooden pencil the same diameter as the smallest component of the pen you're working on. For all intents and purposes this is the pen tube, though you'd want some leeway. Now stick polymer clay on the dowel. Mold it to fit your hand. Use it to write with for a while. Make sure every curve and surface is perfect for your hand. Bake the pencil to harden the clay. Chuck this up on a 4-axis mill with a touch probe and scan the shape into a file. In CAD/CAM, smooth and clean up the surface and create a 4-axis toolpath.

Back on the mill, pick a material, drill, and tube it with pen tubes. One of my favorites is some combination of bloodwood and ebony. Load the toolpath and run it. Finish with Micromesh and Crystal Coat.

You now have a pen that is completely and utterly designed for your hand and your hand alone. Don't like wood? Make it out of metal. Don't like hard pens? Use it to generate a negative and make a mold. Cast in hard urethane rubber. The choice is entirely yours.

Yeah, it's a high.