I returned to the workplace today. Theodora is doing fine. So does Capella, the master corporal (who I will probably not name, she's a lesbian who got all kinds of Polynesian stuff and a calf tattoo and seems to love it, but... eh, honestly we don't speak much and I can't say I like her a lot), Esme...
Someone in the service had sent me an email on Friday to catch up for news, an older woman. I replied to her this morning. I was touched, even as this isn't someone I have spoken to a lot.
But me? I'm always looking over my shoulder. I'm looking at the shelf that is beside the one that once stood there, and is still charged, so probably no chance of toppling. I've slightly moved my stuff to the right so I don't stand in its trajectory. We're moving the service as I said, and I asked Capella if any big furniture was going to be moved. She said no, we're just going to displace the computers and maybe some desks. But desks already? They're horizontal. And yet it sent a shiver down my spine. Just the thought of displacing a heavy item makes me scared.
I cried, silently, multiple times, this morning while working. Was asked if I was okay. I just said, as usual. I don't want to break down in front of people a second time, so I just work... and at the same time, I cry, I get red eyes, I just... don't make a fuss. I don't want to. People can probably tell I'm not okay but I refuse to say that I wonder why I'm still alive.
***
I mean think about it. Why am I still alive? What exactly am I doing here? Someone like me who belongs absolutely nowhere in this world and on whom therapy does not work because I refuse to be gaslit into thinking I'm doing fine and I'm "healthy", and psychiatry even less because I'm certainly not willing to drug myself into compliance and "good behaviour"?
Someone who would never call a suicide hotline because she knows that people probably don't give a shit about you on the end of the line, that you'll never see their face or talk to them, and that they're "professionals" or "volunteers" anyway and you will exit their mind the minute they hang up the phone and move onto the next one?
Someone who is as profoundly disintegrated as me? Who is just a shadow of what could've been?
Army Dreamers.
I tried to kill myself seven months ago. I didn't make it to the point it would be anything worrisome. And then... a massive metal shelf almost crushes me to death, and again. All I had was sore muscles, and my survival instinct kicked in.
It's a matter of time before the next time. Before death finds me. It's been watching over me for a long time, and it almost got me.
Next time it might. And I don't know when it will be, and what will cause it, especially not if I'm not doing this with my bare hands (if you don't get it, I don't plan on making another attempt on my life).
But why am I still alive.
Why is the pearl still here.
Hopoe.
I wish I could tell the team about what happened. Tell Cepheus, or Cassiopeia. And tell them:
"But this one", I would point at my pearl, or hold it, "it survived. It could've been torn off and it's still here..."
I know the tears are going to fall when I get the chance to say it.
They probably remember where this pearl is from.
***
I'm slow, dreadfully slow, and it kills me. I'm so used to breeze through files and I've only done two this morning.
I don't have the energy to keep the façade. Not only am I feeling overloaded by the amount of people in this office (for real, we're five or six in here depending on if a reservist is present or not). I used to work so fast. I used to be enthusiastic, fiery, to throw my words around. But now the minute I step into the office I feel the tears coming back. It was already the case before the accident. I was just tired of keeping the façade. But now it's even harder.
The best thing is that I do like going to work, seeing those people, and doing what I'm doing. But also my work is repetitive. What's nice is that every now and then I have a more complex file going on. But this morning, I was getting sloppy. I didn't even have the will or the energy to check if the dates were good on the papers that show ends of mission. I hate it. I know I'm being lazy and sloppy and yet I'm still doing it because I just am dragging myself through the day.
I want to see the team. I want to be among my second family. I bet they're busy but fuck I want to. I don't know if they'll be here even. I dread climbing those stairs just to find empty offices and no time for me.
They have no idea still that I've been this close to death. And they need to know.
***
My old service is not the same. I saw Steph this morning while bringing the medical certificate to the civilian personnel office, and talked to her for a bit. She wants to get out of here and has had three interviews that didn't lead anywhere.
Me? I want to go eventually. But only after I get the chance to reconcile with Hopoe. Even if we don't get together right now, at least that we don't lose contact and that she has a chance to follow me later, or for me to come back every now and then. And I want to have a chance to be part of Hokulea's dance group. Those are really the two things keeping me here: Hopoe and Hokulea's school.
But this lunch I'm not going to the mess hall. I just peeked at the snack bar, and nothing makes me want to eat. I'll just... prepare food at home. Something I can control, I guess. Something that is mine. I might have dinner there tonight, but this lunch... nah. Plus I'm not very hungry.
***
Time for more vegetarian patties. I noticed I don't eat a whole lot of meat except when I crave it. Most of the time, I could fit an ovo-lacto or pescatarian diet. Not just because meat is expensive, it's because I'm concerned of being overloaded.
But soon, when my period will come, it will be liver or blood sausage time.
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