I’m probably not going to write too much this morning. I don’t feel much like writing. In fact, I almost just decided to use my phone for this, even though I brought my laptop with me when I left the office yesterday. But I thought about the pain in my right thumb and decided, you know what, since I have the laptop with me, I’ll use it.
I left work precipitously yesterday, over the fact that, once again, I was being asked to tacitly approve of a bending of the rules that were set not just by me but also by the boss and the other people who were now wanting to bend them, and all at the behest of the same miserable worm that often pushes us into that situation. And maybe because of my apparent Asperger’s, or just because of my moral code, or just the truly abysmal mood I was already in (just check yesterday’s blog to find out about that), but I just basically said, “Fuck this,” and got up, packed up my laptop, and left the office.
I texted my main coworker to apologize, and told him that I was going to call 988 once I got back to the house, because I’m at my wit’s end. I also texted my sister, who was also very supportive, and my coworker told me that the boss apologized to me for putting me in that position.
Anyway, I ended up at the house, which I don’t consider home, and it took me some time and a breather to work my way up to calling the helpline. This is because, the last time I called the helpline, many years ago, while I was out on bail during my personal downfall/debacle, I got picked up by the PBSO, handcuffed, and taken to a place I think was called the South County Treatment Center. The deputies didn’t know how to use their handcuffs very professionally—trust me, I’m a connoisseur—and did some nerve damage to my left wrist in the process that lasted almost a year.
So, I finally decided to call 988 yesterday, only to find that T-Mobile prepay would not allow the call to go through, even though I’m paid through December 11th. I got online to investigate this, and signed into the account, just to confirm that, yes, I was paid up, and I was. So then I got on their chat function, trying to tell them about the issue and asking, basically, “What the fuck?”
But the person on the chat said that I had to call the toll-free number specifically for T-Mobile’s prepaid system, that they couldn’t do anything or even say anything about it on their end. And, of course, even though I’d said that I was trying to call the suicide prevention hotline, they used their same cheerful but useless prepackaged, computer-generated phrases to say I had to call their stupid other service first.
Well, it occurred to me that if I could call their stupid toll-free number, I could probably call another, so I told them to fuck off (or words to that effect), and then looked up the 800 number for the old helpline, and I found that it was still active and would redirect automatically to the same place to which 988 goes. When I started dialing it, I realized that I still had that old number as a contact in my phone, having put it in there just in case, some time ago.
Anyway, I spoke to a pleasant woman who was quite supportive and calming, until I had to use the restroom. One reassuring thing was, she asked me if I had any immediate plan or method of killing myself, or if I was thinking of killing myself. I told her, I think about killing myself every day, and have all sorts of possible methods, but I don’t want to be rude or make a mess for other people to clean up or to inconvenience them, so that was why I was calling them.
I guess if they think you are imminently in danger of killing yourself, then they would call the sheriff. Which leads me to wonder, what if that was your plan? What if you deliberately wanted to call the sheriff and then when they came, attack them and make them shoot you?
That was not my intention, of course, though such ideas have occurred to me at times. I finally got off the phone and took care of the restroom business, let my sister and my coworker know that I had called, and that I was going to bed.
I wish I could say it had solved my problems and I felt worlds better, but I don’t think anyone expects that to be the case. Still, I’m here, for what it’s worth*, and I’m writing this blog, though I’m not working yet on the follow up to my initial neurological post.
But I will close with a public service announcement, or two of them: First, if you or someone you know has trouble with depression or other mental health issues, or what have you, please keep the following information in mind: The three digit number for the national suicide helpline in the USA is 988, and the 800 number is 1- 800-273-8255.
The second suggestion is, if you think there’s any chance you or a loved one might need urgent mental health help, don’t do business with T-Mobile. The fact that I couldn’t get through with the initial 988 number was almost enough to make me decide that it wasn’t worth trying to get help, that this was the world telling me I should just die. Fortunately my combative stubbornness came to my aid, and I had to try to solve the problem because it did not make sense.
Fuck T-Mobile. But thank goodness for the people at the suicide help line.
*Nothing, in the greater scheme of things.