fracturedguy

So it came down to this:

I went into work on Monday knowing that I would be killing myself during the three days off that were to follow. So instead of walking to my desk, I walked into the HR department and told them that I cannot work again anytime soon, and they gave me the paperwork to fax in to make me officially off work for as long as it takes. I drove The Girl to Louisville last night and this morning she continued north and I came home. My next order of business is to move the last of my stuff out of here (this is what makes leaving work so easy: the fact that I am systematically withdrawing all memories and existence of myself has everybody convinced that I will be dead soon; I never even realized until my mother pointed out that this is how it seems, that it is indeed my plan).
Once I am removed from The Girl and her families lives...

I'm going to get help. That's right, I am not proud. The fact that it seems like the easiest solution doesn't stop 50% of my brain from recognizing that it is a really stupid idea.
But it is only 50%... if it were more, then I would be all the help I need. As it is, however, I do expect to do this and while they've got my locked up in a little room I expect to be a little piece of Hell, trying to manage to kill myself with every little thing they've got within my reach.

I haven't told anybody about this, not even The Girl, but I decided to mark it up here because everybody I know around here will find out by word-of-mouth, however nobody will think to put anything in any of my retarded journals, and I think people read them, and would therefore be just as deserving to know as anybody else around here.

I won't have any internet access. I have no idea how long I'll be in the hospital. It's probably best for anybody who reads this to assume the best.