Mike was right to be worried . . . . and that worries me.























Fuck.

Fuck Things

I'm having a hard time getting things down on paper. I want to write. I fucking yearn to write and every time I sit down to write, my brain becomes a jumbled mess. I know it's the ECT, which sucks.

Today is weird. Today has been kinda rough. Not bad, I guess, but just rough. It's Tuesday, and Tuesdays I'm at the riding center all day. In the morning, from 9-10:30, I do EFP with kids in a special school program. From 10:30-12:15 I clean up, play with my horse, Thor, and eat lunch. Then I have therapeutic riding with 2 kids from 12:15-1:45.

Well, this morning I was pretty much checked out during EFP. Then I go to get Thor to work with him and the whole time I feel like I'm on the verge of losing it. But the weird thing is that the emotions aren't there. Like, it feels like they're going to be, and then they're not. But I still feel like I'm going to lose it.

As it was getting closer to afternoon class time I was feeling more and more like I couldn't cope. Like I couldn't handle being in class. And during my first class with Gabe, that feeling intensified. So much so that I had to leave before my second class - I couldn't stay, I couldn't handle it. Couldn't handle the interaction, faking it, I just couldn't. The whole way home I felt empty and hollow and on the verge of breaking down - but with no real emotion behind it.

And I wanted to cut.

It was my plan to pick up A from school and come home and work out. I have not worked out. I'm not going to either. I don't care. I don't care at all. Fuck it. I don't know what to do with myself.

I'm apathetic. I just want to go to sleep. Go to sleep and not wake up until I feel better. But I don't have that luxury. No. I have to battle my stupid fucking brain every day. Fuck it.

fuck

There's a good chance that I should be in the hospital right now. And if I'm thinking that . . . well . . .

It's just that I'm struggling - really struggling right now. I can't keep my moods managed. I'm irrationally angry or I'm sobbing and full of despair. Maybe it's my new med, Prestiq, causing this. Or not. Maybe it's something entirely different. I have no fucking clue but I'm not doing well.

I feel like I can't cope with anything. I want to curl in a little ball and block out all stimulation. I want to cut. I want to scream and throw things. These are the only ways I can see myself coping.

This morning I drove to my mother-in-law's house to pick up my son. I had to pull over because I was crying so hard I couldn't see. Pulled myself together, got him and went to work with my horses. Felt a little better. Okay. Good. See? You'll be fine. You're fine.

As I drove home, my anger was building. We went grocery shopping, my anger was building. Putting away groceries I yelled at my son and I could feel the anger spiraling out of control. So I went to my bedroom and sat down. Figured I'd give myself a little "time out", do some deep breathing, gain my composure and control.

Instead, I lost my shit and cried for 30+ minutes. I kept thinking, I wish hubs and the boy didn't care so much, that way I could just go, just be done with it. I was staring at my wrists through my tears, visually tracing the cuts I would make.

No.

I kept telling myself, "I don't want to die. I'm going to live." My new mantra. Over and over. I know the constant thoughts about death and suicide are because of the depression. Depression lies. I know this. Think of all the good. There's so much good. So many people love me and care about me.

I know this. I know all of this. But I sit and sob and stare at my wrists.

I'm so fucking sick of this.