Except there is a reason, and it’s called your brain or your biochemistry or whatever you want to call it. And you’re tired of feeling low. You’re tired of feeling broken. You’re tired of your brain (possibly) lying to you as you wonder if it’s true that nobody other than the people who have to care give even one single shit about you. You were on a high just a few days ago, but now you’re lower than you’ve been in a long time. You wonder if the pills you have would be enough to do the job before you remember that your therapist has told you it’s time to lay off the xanax for a while because it’s addictive, and if the ones you have left aren’t enough, then you end up in the hospital or just VERY hungover and have no xanax, so that’s not an option because you’re not sure if 5 prozac (for the depression), 3 xanax (for “emergencies” for the anxiety), 2 depakote (it’s a mood stabilizer to work with the mania when the depression is low and the mania is high because of the prozac), and 2 leftover cymbalta (from when we were mainly worried about the anxiety) would do the job. Yeah, it’s a lot of meds, and half the time, I’m shit at remembering to take them or even decide to not take them because they make me feel a little dead, hence my wild ups and downs. It’s complicated.
A week ago I threw away the razor blade that I originally bought to scrape my city sticker off my window but had put in my medicine cabinet just in case because knives really aren’t practical. I just now went and checked to see if it’s still there. It’s not, but I found the pencil sharpener that I use for my eyeliner, but that razor is tucked deep into its plastic shell.
You also remember that you have reasons to not do this, that today wasn’t that bad, that people got shot today, that people went out to dinner and were murdered today (Somalia, I think?), that someone was raped today, and that your life is actually good and you need to stop feeling shitty about your life because really it’s quite good, isn’t it? I mean, three people told you you looked cute today (so the fuck WHAT if two of them were sketchy as fuck dudes who probably wanted money or smokes), that the voice in your head telling you that you’re fucking worthless and nobody wants to hang out with you is probably lying, that someone accused you of fabricating evidence during a pre-trial when you KNOW what you said is true, but you had to ask the arbitrator to consider recusing himself because he admitted from the get-go that he thinks the doctor in your case isn’t credible and can’t be trusted but you backed down on it because you don’t want a reputation as THAT lawyer who causes trouble, but you stood your ground on standing by your doctor’s opinion because you believe you’re not wrong on this. You got mad and you got indignant, but the only outward indicator of your anger was your left eyebrow going halfway up your forehead as people accused you of lies, but you told your boss, and he listened and believed you and he believes IN you. That you are good at your job, that people who are on your team come to you with questions about their own cases, so obviously you’re not an incompetent moron, and the imposter syndrome is real sometimes. Sometimes you also don’t care about run-on sentences or commas, and this whole paragraph makes you mad because normally you care about grammar.
So you pour another glass of wine and wonder if maybe you should quit drinking altogether, if maybe you should go to an AA meeting even though you NEVER drink before work and you wouldn’t DARE to drink during the day on a work day, but maybe you drink too often during the week after work. But you drink during the week because you had a bad day and because, yet again, nobody invited you to do anything after work or last weekend or next weekend, and you’re back to thinking about the pills and wondering if there are enough.
There aren’t enough. There might be enough if you finish this bottle of wine. You’ve had two glasses, and if you finish it and add the pills? You go to google and you do the math. It might be enough. It might not be enough.