Life update (07/08/2022)

I haven’t been able to write anything of value in days. I’d say that I haven’t had such a dry spell for a long time, but I barely remember what I did yesterday. When I get home from work I’m so exhausted and deflated that I can only slump in the chair and waste the rest of the afternoon in a vegetative state. Yesterday I went a bit further: I got in bed and fell asleep as I listened to storm sounds. I was glad to be gone at least for a while.

Half of the days that I’ve woken up at six in the morning recently I’ve regretted that I didn’t die in my sleep. Such is my mental state when I get to the office and I’m forced to deal with people and their computer problems. I’m sluggish, I have trouble thinking, and I can’t remotely begin to care about anything. I don’t know how people even approach me, because as I sit at my desk I’m burning in the black flame of my misery. As usual, the worst part of this job is dealing with human beings (it has always been the case in any setting I’ve been involved in), whether they are my coworkers or the generally clueless users.

The following are examples from a single day:

-Someone asked to get the professional version of Access installed in his computer, which is fine, but then he emailed me because the upgraded version of Excel (we install the whole upgraded Office package) no longer allowed him to do something it used to. He turned out to be the only person I’ve come across on this job that sets up Excel workbooks as data sources for his personal Excel projects at the office. I talked with HQ and it seems that this will fail with every upgraded version of Excel for all the regions of my country that HQ covers. I’m still dealing with reverting the upgrade so the guy can do what he used to, nevermind upgrading Access. I was tempted to tell him that if he’s using Excel in a way that nobody else is at work, then he should do it at home. In any case, his boss took the opportunity to ask me personally to upgrade Access in other computers (they know they should mail our office, and not individual workers, when making these requests), but then he gave me the names of computers that already have Access upgraded. I told him that if there’s any issue to call HQ so they open a ticket.

-A user stated something of the effect of, “our computer no longer opens [a program related to sterilization]”, but failed to mention any detail about the computer or its physical location. I emailed her for details. After she failed to reply, I ended up phoning her department until they located her. She gave me the computer’s name. The network connection for that computer was down, so I likely would have to check its physical connections. When I asked for its location, the woman told me that she had no time to handle my problem now, and that I should call some time later. That sentence took longer to say than what it would have taken her to share where in the hospital the computer is located. In the end one of the corresponding cables at the network rack was faulty.

-Someone told me that a vitals monitor was failing, but she also failed to tell me its physical location. It’s amazing how often we are assumed to be omniscient. I think some people just have a hard time understanding that we aren’t in their heads.

-Some request stated that “the Maintenance Department has finished the installation that should allow you to move the computer of X room at Y building”. Of course, I had no foreknowledge of this move, nor the specifics of what the Maintenance Department has done (which means I’ll have to waste time going there and getting the specific details that they should have provided). I email her asking if that X room is the origin or the destination of the move, or both (in case they want to move it from a table to another), and if the computer has already been moved (they know they have to call the department that handles moving installed material from one place to another; they get paid for that, we don’t). She tells me that the move is from a table in that room to another one in that same room. Later on her supervisor tells me that the move is from one room to another. They fail to mention if anyone has already moved the computer and its unmentioned associated devices (such as a phone, a printer, etc.) to its destination; my department is only supposed to handle hooking up the computer to the network and making sure it works properly when it’s already at the location. I expect that when I show up later today with a cart, they’ll tell me to come later, even though I will have arrived at the time they specified (they do this relatively often).

My basic psychological defenses, the “callus” that allows me to withstand the regular assaults of noise (usually in the form of incredibly annoying interactions between childish coworkers), the high light levels that people want to work under, and the closeness of so many humans, are worn down, and I force myself to resemble a functioning human being although in the background of my mind I keep hearing that I need to die. If there’s such a thing as a medical leave for mental illness, I should probably be on it, but in that case I would disappear from the office for weeks at a time every month and a half or so (maybe even more often). I’m simply not built to exist in such environments nor deal with human beings to this complexity of interactions and for the required length of time every day. I’m the kind of person who would have been posted at a lighthouse a couple hundred years ago. I also want to masturbate as I gaze into the eldritch light of some fancifully designed lens.

At times like this I wonder why on earth did I ever think that I was capable of handling the responsibilities of a normal adult when I’m 52 percent disabled according to our regional government, was diagnosed with so-called “high-functioning” autism (by a couple of psychiatrists that said that my autism was obvious, something that previous therapists missed completely) and I was also diagnosed at different times with avoidant personality disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder (apparently OCPD and OCD are not the same thing), a generalized anxiety disorder and a clinical depression “resistant to treatment”.

My current period of cyclical depression has coincided with the confirmation that my heart has a physical problem, even though it may be among the mildest possible: atrial fibrillation. My health has failed me from birth: my first memory was of waking up from an operation in which they had to fix a couple of physical issues. Then in my twenties I discovered that I was born with a pituitary tumor which has fucked me up permanently, and throughout I’ve had to endure an Irritable Bowel Syndrome that only gets worse with age. You can usually tell who has serious IBS from their pictures, because those people look worn out and miserable, as it befits the human beings that a few times a day are a distraction and a loose sphincter away from shitting themselves. Now my fucking heart is compromised. I suspect I’ve been in shock, or affected somehow, ever since I spent hours at the Observation Unit of that Emergency Department. I’m waiting for the next time that my heart will fuck me over again, and unfortunately the two treatments I’ve been offered for it are troubling prospects.

I’m also in the kind of mood in which I’m eager to get rid of any person that annoys me even slightly, from online contacts that somehow have ended up in my friends lists on social sites, to coworkers that bother me unnecessarily or disturb my peace of mind in any way. There’s no point in compromising my mental health and principles except to the absolutely minimal extent required to keep a job. Anyone else can rightly fuck off, especially those who have made me up to be someone I’m not to fit a mental image of theirs. I’m sick of dealing with the delusional projections that human beings regularly force upon others. Just stare into a fucking mirror and leave me alone.

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