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My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
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Lol. Good one
If you're curious, I had in mind that she was moving a bit faster than a motor scooter (in the US can to 30 MPH without a license). A collision with a child could be fatal at that speed (and icky).
Have to stop here for now but... wow. (More therapy rambling by yours truly below)
Rarity reminds me of what I often contemplated doing to myself between 2007 and 201 the present. My first thought of self-harm came at my first job. A surgical complication caused a corneal ulsar to form in what was left of my right eye. I could barely see like I had once saw only a year ago. I was 500 miles away from any friends and family, except my wife and newborn son. I was just inches away from the front door that was right by a major street. Everything in me cried to get out of my work chair, rush through the door, and dash into the street to be plowed over. Fortunately I remembered my wife and son and kept that from coming to fruition.
Later, during the events of 2011 through 2015, I kept seeing myself pulling the scissors from my desk drawer at work and plunging them into my chest. Anything to end the pain. Anything to stop the hurt of feeling more-and-more useless. To end knowing all I was doing was bringing suffering to my wife and son as a result of my condition.
Also, when I was in a sort of halfway house for those in the hospital, I knew well enough how to get out of my room, walk to the kitchen, and find the bread kinife. I was going to ram it through. End the pain. End the misery. But, again, I resisted. I knew I had to live. That I couldn't allow myself to fail those who needed me. No matter how useless I felt. No more matter how much it hurt.
Then came the worst. In 2014 my supervisor threw me under the bus over-and-over again with my Director who felt I had somehow sleighted him. You haven't lived until a man, being list3end to by HR and your supervisor in a secret meeting, spends 45 minutes telling why you are an awful person and how all you did for four years is meaningless. Nobody stood up for me. My supervisor just took notes and the HR lady was silent. Then my supervisor had the nerve to ask me "Are you alright?" after I was torn to shreds. This was when I first felt the most awful desire. The genuine urge to kill someone.
The next three months I tried to resist. My wife and therapist begged me to quit my job but I knew how much my salary and insurance meant. I had to hold on. However I eventually reached a point where all I could think of was how to kill her. How to make her suffer for all those years of false concern as she now robbed me of all my job responsibilities, belittled me in front of my colleagues, and allowed my Director to tear me apart with words so filled with ignorance that I can't even begin to repeat. (Nor am I really at liberty to fully discuss as I did have to sign an agreement forbidding me from going into such details)
One faithful day I hid away in the nearby clinic and called my therapist. I told her how close I was to murdering my supervisor. How it was either me ending my life or ending hers. I was told to go home and, without a word to my supervisor, I called the public transit bus to come and get me.
The following week I made a plan. I knew I was mentally unstable. So, after the Para Transit bus dropped me off at work, I rushed to my desk, grabbed as much as I could from it, and dashed for the clinic. I asked a clinician to follow me as the next person I had to speak with was not very fond of how I viewed their commitment of meeting "Reasonable Accomodation". This paid off as I was able to state I was going on FMLA. On the way back to the clinc, where I felt safe, my supervisor appeared and asked what I was doing. The clinician was positioned so I would need to go through her to get to my supervisor. I yelled out in psychotic rage that I did not want to talk to her. I then made the call to Para Transit and waited outside to escape the haven of my horror.
I remained largely in bed for four days after that. Nobody who always assured me they'd be there to support me ever contacted me. To this day they haven't. However I knew I needed to work on my emotions and hit the therapy hard for the next year to remove that terrible feeling of genuinely wanting to kill someone. It's one thing to want to kill yourself but it's really another when you are homicidal. I never want to be there again but am forever tainted by having been there in the first place.
Lastly, as if I couldn't go more emotional on you, is how medical bills brought on by my condition have our family in ruins. I hate knowing my healthcare put my beloved family in such straits. I need a job but I'm experiencing stereotypes and stigmas keeping me from making much progress at all. I just keep uncovering more barriers to entry coupled with technology being less-and-less friendly to the blind. I'm actually lucky I can still do anything on FiM Fiction after their latest update. It's a lot harder for me to access stories and I can no longer do blogs. :( However, as many times before, I will remain determined. Determined to know that I'm not finished. To be like Scoots in this story knowing life will go on after she heals while respecting my wife as those who would never give up on me no matter how I'm perceived. Furthermore, with my best friend as my Rainbow Dash to keep my love for the arts retaining my sanity when I feel at my most absolute of lows.
*Snugs* Thank you. I have cried and it is good. I've held all this back for so long. Too long. I appreciate the help and am not ashamed to have shared anything. Worried I may have gotten annoying but not ashamed for sharing.