I need to write, but don’t really feel able. Just had therapy. I sat in almost complete silence for forty-five minutes (like when I first went to counselling, more than half a lifetime ago), then ended the session early because there seemed no point in continuing. I felt that my therapist was saying that I made the wrong decision in turning down the job and that there was nothing she could do to help me if I was moving backwards from employment and living independently. This is probably true. It underestimates how much I thought my boss was telling me not to take the job I was offered, though. My therapist focused on my boss’ surprise when I turned the job down and ignored what I said about my boss making it very clear that she did not feel I had the people skills for the new job I was being offered.
I feel I’m just a screw up. I feel I let everyone down: my therapist, my friends, my non-biological sisters, E., my sister and especially my parents. Everyone was right: I should have taken a job that would have left me miserable, but would at least have had a steady income. I can’t see myself getting a new job. I certainly can’t see myself getting the other things I want in life (community, wife and kids). I’m just a completely useless screw up. I haven’t really succeeded since the sheltered, structured environment of school, which suited my (real or imagined) autism. Even at Oxford, where initially I did well academically, I failed socially. I used to cry in my room with loneliness, even in my first year, before the depression ‘officially’ began in my second year.
I used to cry in my job. I don’t think my therapist believed me when I said that, or at least she didn’t think it was a good reason to give up on the job. I don’t know how many people literally cry at work and whether they should all keep their jobs.
There’s a famous experiment where researchers offer children one marshmallow now or two marshmallows in twenty minutes. Being able to wait for the second marshmallow is seen as a predictor of self-control and adult success. I feel like my life is one whole string of infinitely deferred marshmallows, with other people stuffing their faces with their marshmallows and blaming me when I say it must surely be time for me to have one now.
My therapist seemed to make it clear that she can’t do anything else for me and doesn’t think we should continue meeting. We’re not meeting next week while I think about it.
Today is my birthday. Thirty-five. Felicitations, ha ha ha. I still feel like an anxious, emotionally neglected, bullied child. I want to go back to bed. I want to hurt myself. I want to die. I don’t have the energy to do any of these things.
I’ve let everyone down. I’m such a screw up.