That Damn Box Cutter

Box Cutter

Rewind about seven months ago. I’m working a dead-end warehouse job. I’m tired, I’m overworked & overstressed, and so sick of everything going on in my life that I pop the suicide question once more. Well not once more – I think that daily would be more appropriate. Oftentimes I’d reach a certain point where I would get so overwhelmed and on edge that I’d go to the bathroom, sit in one of the stalls, and stare at my box cutter knife; fantasizing about how much blood would pour out from slitting my throat clear across. This happened once, twice, even three times a day. Eventually I took almost two weeks off to try evaluate what was going on, maybe even seek professional help. (That went nowhere – the provincial govt. service for people with mental illnesses borders on non-existent.) Three days after coming back, I quit and went into a spiral that lasted for the remainder of the year.