In January 2014, I wrote: Uh-oh, just noticed another potential pattern of a scary kind. Our worst years were 2000, 2004, 2007 and 2011. 2004 is 4 years later than 2000. 2007 is 3 years later than 2004. 2011 is 4 years later than 2007. If we keep alternating 4…3…4…3… then 3 years after 2011 is… ugh! Nooooo!!!

Six months later the levothyroxine problems and possibly perimenopause began. It’s hard to gauge precisely when the perimenopause began.

If the pattern holds true that means something bad is going to happen in 2018. But it’s already 2017 and I’m still not done suffering what was sicced on me in 2014! It also seems that many of my/our long-term problems last 4-7 years. It will be 4 years in July. Hard to believe I might finally get a reprieve from this in less than half a year.

Once again I’m seriously thinking of ways to end it. It’s easy to say I don’t want a regular script when I’m feeling good, but when I feel like this I’ll take anything every day, and fuck the side effects. With no way to know when or if this will ever and, all I can say for sure is that the possibility of dealing with this for another 30 years or so is definitely not worth it. It really is that bad. There’s no adapting to it and there’s no making it easier.

It’s either the peri, the meds, or something went wrong with my brain which constitutes as the “medical disorder” A once said it was. That one’s the hardest to buy. I still can’t believe I would develop an anxiety disorder just for shits and giggles so late in life. It’s got to be either hormonally induced (peri) or chemically induced (meds). I’ve tried to tell myself that this is just how I’m meant to be now in my older years and just learn to live with it, but it’s not that easy. It’s way too hard and I’m tired of struggling. It’s really sucking my will to live. I’m tired of having one problem after another. First it’s the abuse I went through as a child, then it’s the love game, then it’s legal, then it’s poverty, and now it’s anxiety. If this ever does end, what would be next?

Then there’s the question of how the hell to end it and do it right. There’s no rooftop high enough that I could get to. I’m too fat to climb a tree to hang myself from. I’m afraid that if I OD on something it might leave me a vegetable instead of dead. I don’t have a gun to shoot myself, I don’t have the guts to cut myself to bleed out enough, and so I just don’t know what to do. I’m still afraid of the carbon monoxide angle for various reasons. I’m just afraid of botching that up. Too many things could go wrong. So what does that leave me? Do I just sit and hope that some gang member shoots me at the store and that I die instantly? That I get terminally ill? Killed instantly in a car accident? Or should I ram my head into the wall and hope my brain explodes?

I literally feel like I’m cursed with life. A life where I feel like shit so much of the time with no way out. Like something is keeping me alive just so I can suffer. The only thing different this time around is that instead of the anxiety being steady, it tends to come and go in waves. Just when I think, oh it’s gone for the day, it comes back. Well, whether or not there’s some evil God up there having fun teasing and torturing me, sooner or later I’m going to pick a method of suicide and hope for the best.

I skipped my meds on the 9th and I skipped them today, too. Tomorrow I might take a lorazepam when I take the meds, assuming I feel better today like I felt better when I skipped my meds on the 9th. I’m just worried about running out before I see the shrink.

I’ve had a lot of fatigue the last few days, but I’m not so bad today. Even my boobs are less sore. Three nights in a row, though, I took naps. Late-night naps are always nice. I love that fine line where you’re floating between sleep and wakefulness.

Sure enough, they asked if Tom would work today. He said he would one last time but only for four hours. They still haven’t set up his new computer yet. Yeah, they’re stalling so that they can keep taking advantage of him.

I talked to Tammy the other day. No God or Bill, just that Lisa’s visiting. I managed to change the subject without being that obvious. Mark, who’s like Jesse was, can’t sit still. So he’s working at the nursing home full-time and remodeling a condo. Nothing wrong with keeping active.

Tammy might have irritable bowel syndrome so she’s having a CAT scan done. I’m not sure which one of us is more cursed.

Marie set up a GoFundMe account that she shared on Facebook asking for 2K, then she sent me a message about it the next day (yesterday). I told her we needed to hang onto every penny we’ve got because we need to replace our roof, which she knows and understands.

Supposedly the woman she was with in Maine kicked her out and sold her stuff. She’s now with a woman named Marie in Oregon who’s been treating her really well, but I’m skeptical that it will last. Marie goes through girlfriends like crazy. This one’s a little surprising because she works for the city attorney. Usually, people with those kinds of jobs look down on people on disability, which Marie is on. Either way, Marie has been treating her well so far. The thing is that she’s too old for these fucking childish games. Not saying she’s fully to blame, but the kind of situation she was in back in Maine… that’s the kind of shit you go through in your 20s, not your 50s.

We exchanged numbers and will definitely chat sometime. Maybe even get together if they drive down to the Sacramento area.

Becky left a message asking if she could call. All she said was that she wanted to talk to me about something. This is my VH sister, not my niece. The fact that she didn’t say what it was about and wants to call me after all this time tells me that she wants something from me. If she doesn’t want to push me to help Marie, I wonder if she wants something for Maria. Another pathetic case, not that Marie is “pathetic.” I get that we don’t ask for a lot of what happens to us. I didn’t ask for this anxiety just like we didn’t ask for the economy to collapse. But both Marie and Maria can be very immature and I think that because they haven’t grown up in many ways is part of why they’re in the predicament they’re in. What I don’t get is why Maria is homeless when she has a daughter and seemingly many friends. She’s got no money for a place to live but she sure has money for cigarettes? Come on! All her posts are about shelters and her imaginary little angels that she thinks gives a shit about her. She can tell herself that if it makes her feel better, but she’s only kidding herself if she thinks she’s got these oh-so-caring angels looking down at her. Then why is she homeless?

Anyway, Becky messaged me after I went to bed. I replied shortly after I got up after 10 PM, but she’s obviously in bed now.

Despite the fact that I have clearly stated that the story I’m posting as “Clever Chloe” is a work of fiction, three people so far believe it’s real.

Last night I dreamed it was nighttime and either I just got up or Tom just got up or both. He was sitting at his computer and I was about to tell him something. Then, irritated by the darkness in the room, I reached for the light switch and said, “Let’s get some light in here.”

Tom then began clearing his throat excessively.