It's Ides of March, a perfect time to get stabbed in the back!!!!!

Work is hell. In my every-other-month shaming meeting: As usual, literally every aspect of how I interact with people was nitpicked, down to "You didn't put "dear all" on one email, "you didn't wish me a good morning" (MORNINGS HERE ARE NOT GOOD, I DO NOT WISH YOU ONE NOR DO I WANT YOU TO WISH ME ONE), and nitpicking every single thing I said, said I interrupt too much, said they don't like when I don't talk either, they literally just hate everything. Again, how am I supposed to get another job if I literally can't interact with humans in any way that pleases them. They don't like how I do ANYTHING. They just have nothing but complaints about every time I speak, but they don't like not speaking either...but don't you realize if you terrorize me over every time I speak, it means I don't want to speak any more?!?!?! And given that, no, I don't WANT to have a live conversation with you over every email if you're going to nitpick every fucking thing I do. Literally they are writing down every single tiny thing I do and giving me a list of every failing.

I admit I fucked up bad this week. But good god, you don't have to nitpick every single tiny motherfucking goddamned everything, every day, every single time, down to "You forgot to say dear all when you were emailing us about an emergency." FUCKING KILL ME NOW, GOD, PLEASE LET ME JUST DROP DEAD.

I stabbed myself in the leg with a pen (cap on) in one hand while squeezing a stress ball in the other hand the entire meeting, which was at least only 22 minutes. The leg worked better. I smacked myself around in various ways on the head and arms, bit my hand, etc. afterwards. I figured out that punching myself in the heart really worked the best of all.

I just want to die so I can stop being myself and being a fucking failure because I exist. I wish I could just snap myself out of existence. If I could come up with a painless, non-damaging way to do it...which is to say, not gonna do gun or knives or anything obviously damaging that I'd have to live with if I survived. I'd take pills, except I can't take pills, so. I don't know how to take myself out in an effective yet not-scar-producing way.

I was outright drinking during lunch (it helps to calm me down but I admit my current boxed wine stash doesn't get me drunk feeling at all), crying, and listening to "You Stupid Bitch" on repeat.

I didn't do much of any work during the afternoon, because fuck them. I cried and cried. I just want to die so I can stop being myself already. I have bruises showing up on my leg, on my hand where I bit it multiple times, on my chest, which is turning blue. I've hit myself well...plenty of times...but this is the first time I've actually managed to do damage. And I'm okay with that? I was getting literally beat up emotionally, I feel like my body needs to match, like I need to hit something or somebody and I'm the only one around I can hit like that. I actually hurt in places. I don't get why anyone cuts themselves and gets scars and makes it obvious what the fuck they've done, but bruises? That's fine.

Today I realized that I'll never get another job here (by which I mean GiantOrg). Because they WILL call my supervisor, and I will immediately be sunk. Not that I care about getting one anywhere else, mind you. I have a like/hate relationship with GiantOrg (hate my job, but the rest of it has its benefits), I've heard the equivalent GiantOrg in the next town over pays worse and stalks you online, and I have pretty good pay for what I do. I don't know how to get another job anywhere else anyway, nor do I care where I go particularly. People tell me to work for the state, a process that makes no fucking sense and sounds like a whopping pain in the ass and it's not like you can even shop around for jobs you're interested in first (their job hunting website is even worse than Giant Org's, somehow, like thousands of shit jobs you can't filter through instead of 250+ you can't filter through at Giant Org), and it's not like you can apply for it, you have to do this whole stupid thing and testing to get eligible and....seriously, fuck that. But this job makes me want to die. But I'm so terrible any job might make me want to die. I don't know.

Tap class was better, at least. She decided to do "the harder" version of our dance routine, which I wasn't super thrilled about, but went along. She said I was doing a lot better than the other noobs she's teaching it to, who are apparently freaking out.

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