I don't even . . .

This first writing I wrote today. It explains yesterday a little, which was a VERY bad day. The section underneath, I had actually written yesterday morning but never published. I was going to write more to it but I wanted to shower before the dish network guys came over to install dish. And after my shower, that's when I lost it.

I won't use any trigger words - or at least I'll try not to. 

Yesterday was very bad. I broke down completely - crying harder than I think I ever have, VERY bad thoughts about hurting myself and worse. Very ACTIVE thoughts. I put my fist through the stone tile of our outdoor fireplace - surprisingly, I didn't fracture anything.

Instead of doing more, I was smart for once. I called my therapist and then my husband. My hubby picked up our son from school, came home and took me to the ER. That was the first time EVER I've gone to the hospital for wanting to do more than hurt myself. 

 And it was demoralizing. Put in a room with only a bed and a blanket. Huge window on the door and no way to open it from the inside. They took all of my clothes and belongings except for my chapstick and phone - and I was only allowed to keep them as long as my hubby was there. The nurse had to pull everything out of the bathroom and stand in there with me if I had to pee. I had a guard watching me at all times - I had to be in his view constantly. And keep in mind - this is the ER at the hospital I work at (I'm an RN), and I know these people. That was the worst part.

The ER doc was a dick and you could tell that he couldn't give a shit about what was going on. He just had to do his intake, order labs and a urine, and get the psychologist down to see me. And the faster he could do that and get outta there, the better. The psychologist was very nice, understanding and straight forward. I liked her. She talked to me alone for awhile and then both me and my hubby together. We made a plan so that I didn't have to be hospitalized (I was refusing that anyway).

I'm home now, and I'm safe. I feel a little better. I took a Nuvigil this morning (my "happy" pill - my upper), and it's helping. I'm still depressed, I still feel like crap - but I'm better than yesterday. I was started on Prozac last week and hopefully that will help. My primary doc and I are adjusting my thyroid meds again as I am once again hypothyroid (which might be the explanation of this horrid downward spiral over the last month). So, we'll see.

This is just all so frustrating. I don't seem to be getting better and I know it takes time to get the meds right, and life factors right . . .but it's so frustrating. We've been trying for a year now and I'm not much better. Hopefully it will change.

As long as I'm alive, I have hope. 

This part starts what I wrote yesterday morning and explains how I've been feeling.

It's amazing that I'm even writing. I don't feel like writing. I don't feel like doing anything. I don't feel.

I don't feel. Hardly anything. Only emptiness, sorrow, hopelessness. I feel my depression. I feel the hurt and pain. I feel a hollow void. Nothingness. I'm flat. A shell. A husk. I'm no longer me. I don't care. I can't. I don't have enough in me to care.

Joy and happiness elude me. No contentment. No feelings of pride or warmth. No feelings of love. I look at my son, and I love him, with all my heart. But I don't feel it.

 Do you know how FUCKING SHITTY IT IS TO NOT FEEL THAT WARMTH AND LOVE FOR YOUR OWN SON? YOUR OWN HUSBAND?

I doubt it.

And this is the hardest thing I've ever experienced. I feel so horrible for it. Because I love them both so much and they're the only reason I'm still alive. If I didn't have them, if I lost them, I would kill myself. No questions asked.