I've been living life in my not-so-favorite style, which (although it sounds cliche) is just trying to get through one day at a time. I don't know why it's so difficult. I really don't have any responsibilities other than keeping up with laundry, hanging out with MiniMan, cooking, and cleaning. Wow. I completely sound like a domestic housewife. It's funny how all of a sudden I'm living this life that I never could have even imagined for myself.
Last night my husband asked me what class I wanted to take this spring. I had originally planned to take some kind of science elective just to keep me engaged, since I'm pretty sure that the classes I want to take are not being offered out of the regular sequence (i.e. take ChemI in the spring, and ChemII in the fall). My reply instead was, "I don't really want to take anything." I wonder if I'll feel differently later. I hope so. Right now I can't even imagine leaving the house to buy groceries.
Instead, I've been planning. I set a deadline of being dead by the winter solstice. Part of me knows this is completely ridiculous and that I should just let it go, that it's disturbing, that of course I shouldn't do it, but the rest of me tells me that I have things to do: make sure that the Christmas presents are wrapped; that letters are written (I don't know how I'll ever explain my goodbye without being a completely hurtful and selfish asshole -- then again, it won't really matter, I'll be dead!); that I take most of my clothes to the Good Will; that bills are paid; that I make sure not to jump with my husband's engagement ring on (it was his grandmother's). I figure that if he gets married again, he should be able to have it without associating it with my shattered body.
I researched the bridge I chose. Apparently the university near me recently constructed some kind of net underneath the bridge, so now I have to navigate that, too. I think it's only enough to deter a drunk person from being impulsive, though, not someone who is really determined to die.
Just recently I started to feel guilty about destroying a perfectly healthy body when there are so many people who need organs. Maybe jumping is wrong. We had a student in her early twenties in the ICU who hung herself from a tree with a dog leash. Her family kept her on the vent long enough to donate her organs. Seems straightforward enough, but the timing would be kind of a crapshoot to coordinate. I hate the idea of my husband finding me in a tree, though, and I hate the idea of him seeing me brain dead in the hospital. The girl I took care of -- she looked terrible. Her entire head was swollen; her eyelids bulged out from her head like a frog's.