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.