So many things

There's so many things that I want to write, that I want to say. So many things going through my head right now. I need to get it all out, get it all in writing, but it's as if I don't have the energy. Or the will. Or both.

I've been through so much over the last 6 weeks. So many things I never thought I'd experience. And I'm tired. And drained. And lost.

I'm still trying to recover from the emotional backlash of my overdose, ER visit, and hospitalization. I'm hoping each day that the medication changes will start making a difference, that all of the changes I've made will start making a difference. It has to happen soon. It has to.

I'm still numb. Numb to everything. I still don't feel. I wouldn't even say I'm necessarily depressed right now. I'm too empty and numb to even feel that. I'm a blank void of nothing. A husk. I don't feel and I don't care. It's a horrible place to be. I just . . .I don't care.

I woke up this morning feeling depressed, tired, empty, and unmotivated. I didn't want to do a thing except lay on the floor or the couch and not exist. I wrestled with this. I should go to the gym, I should sew, or draw or clean. I beat myself up for feeling like I was. So I decided to do nothing. I felt like doing nothing and so that's what I did. Nothing. And I felt good about it. And I napped. And this evening I felt a little better. Not as down, a little more hopeful.

But sadly, that didn't last long. By dinner time the numbness was back. The same familiar feeling that I can't seem to shake. I've grown weary of it. I'm doing everything I can to counteract it. Everything I can think of to change my thinking and behavior. I'm doing everything right. This Friday, in fact, starts my first horse assisted psychotherapy session. I don't know what else to do.

I'm still staying positive, as best as I can. And even though this post may sound doom and gloom-ish, I need to vent about how I'm feeling. I know things will change. I know they will. I just need them to change soon. I can't stand not feeling. I can't stand not caring. 

I don't even know what I'm feeling anymore . . .

The last month has been exhausting, confusing. A cyclone of emotions that pull and tear at me, stripping me down to a blank husk of nothing. I don't know what to think. I don't know what to do. I don't even know what I feel anymore. . .

An overdose, an ER visit, nearly shattering my hand by putting it through the stone tile of my fireplace . . . Things I never thought would happen, places I never thought I'd arrive at . . . And I'm scared and I'm confused. And I don't know what to do.

I'm trying not to catastrophize but I'm also trying not to minimize what's happened. I'm trying to stay positive and derail negative thoughts. And all of this is so tiring. And I'm tired of fighting. And when you've felt so bad and so out of control for so long (over a year now), it's hard to see things ever getting better.

And still I push on. There's nothing else I can do. Regardless of how tired I am or how hopeless I feel or how badly I want to throw in the towel . . . I have to push on - my hubby and son are depending on me - they need me to push on.

I take things minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. I have to stay in the moment or I risk losing everything. I'm pushing on in hopes of better times, of stability, and of actually being able to feel again.

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.