I Scared Myself This Weekend

I mean my weekend, Thursday and Friday. And I really don't know how to explain it. I'm not that great a writer, and I don't really understand why anybody would want to read about me.

I know I've mentioned this before, I don't explode - I implode. As you know, my old house has been moved - and will ultimately become my stepsons, and we are all living at the M-in-L's until the new house is up and ready. Hindsight being 20/20: I could have saved myself a lot of trouble if I stayed in a hotel. Now, mind you, I'm not saying this is the way it is - it's my perception (colored by my depression) It's been pretty much hell on me (again - my perception). I'm not a girly-girl. I'm not good at cooking, cleaning or any of the sterotypical woman stuff. And I'm the moron of the family - and have absolutely no status with the stepson. So the stepson, who's in an all-fired hurry to move in, and his friends started cleaning. This is Monday. I work, and have an approximately 90 mile round trip commute. I'm tired when I get home. They're not good excuses, but they're mine. Anyway, the Hubby told me to see if they needed help and to oversee what they're doing. The first thing that went wrong was some stuff in the fridge I had declared trash (old yogurt, old bottles of -----), the Hubby asked the M-in-L if it was still good. Then the stepson said they didn't need help, and since they are (technically) adults decided they didn't need a babysitter. I was wrong. They ended up declaring just about everything trash - and I had to dig around in the pit the Hubby had dug to get things out. I lost a lot of my knitting magazines that had slipped of the futon in the move. (I felt like) Everything was my fault. The Hubby would be SO much better off without me (I told myself). There was just no reason for living. So when everyone else was getting dinner - I went to my car and got my Springfield XD Subcompact 9mm out of the little safe in the trunk. I crossed the hay field. I crossed the field where the late F-in-L had planned to put a new pond. I went to the little wooded area beyond. It had an ancient pond, the old dam busted, but the pond not quite dry. I sat on a mossy rock. I put the gun to my head. It just fit so perfectly.

But I was unable to put my finger on the trigger, even though I was screaming at myself to do it. It just seemed so messy. So, I went back to the house, feeling like a failure. The M-in-L griped at me because I didn't feel like eating. I told the Hubby a day or two later.

Right now, I don't know where my Springfield is. That's a good thing right now. The problem is, that was actually my plan B. It just presented itself first.

And that's where we are. I'm not suicidal right now. I'm thinking I ought to go to the doctor, even though the antidepressants on the formulary suck. And while I don't like myself much, I don't hate myself right now, either.

And...

I'm still here.