Day 6 - Stress kills and I'm a ball of anger

Let's back up for a bit, ok? I know I said The Narcoleptic was the reason for this depressive episode, which is mostly true. However, there are a few other factors. Such as, I have been working the same job for 7 years and I hate it. Not only do I hate it, but I think it's killing me slowly. My bestie is convinced that it is, actually. I work in customer service for a financial institution and when I say nothing will piss you off more than speaking with other humans about mismanaging their money, please believe me. The other thing is that, in general, I dislike people. Too much xenophobia, homophobia, sexism, and misogyny. I was raised by wolves and since that means I was mostly left to my own devices, my own devices lent itself to me minding my own business and just being a good enough human without demeaning and devaluing others.
Anyway, so I hate this job and I spend the majority of my time alone, worrying. What was the biggest sticking point before The Narcoleptic? Dying alone. I quite possibly have an unhealthy fixation on death. I spent most of this year thinking about how much I hate men, but I'm heterosexual. I ruminated over what I would do for the next half a century since women seem to be living way longer than I ever knew. I was mostly concerned with ending up with Alzheimer's and getting shunted into a nursing home where the workers would inevitably put their cigarettes out on my flesh. Lovely future I had carved out for myself, eh? So, there I was worried about my future as a bumbling ashtray, at a job that made me want to kill myself daily, and in walks The Narcoleptic like a breath of fresh air. Then, he dumped me. THEN, my grandfather died. I probably could've said that upfront. The reason I didn't is because death doesn't affect me the way it does others. I don't know why. I used to get so caught up on death and panic about it constantly. I'm a super sensitive person so I guess one of my coping mechanisms, after my brother was killed while I was in high school, was to tell myself that death was a natural part of life and since then death hasn't really caused me any angst. I'm assuming, though, a family member's death compounded with stress and desertion is what finally took its toll on the scrap on sanity I had left.
Aside: that fucking therapist was of no use. I am trying to make the most of the money that I'm spending to see her and well, I don't know if she's worth it. So, I went in with my list of things to work on. Basically, she made me give her the list without actually offering any suggestions to any one of the items. Then, she told me about some of her other patients who had similar situations of loving and dumping. Then, she took my money and shooed me out the door. Ma'am, do you have any ideas about the questions I put before you??? Apparently not.