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.

Today I should have gone to the hospital

I worked today. I was on the floor, backup for trans. I had easy patients. Nice patients. It should have been a nice day. An easy day.

It wasn't.

I knew this morning when I woke up that today would be difficult. I knew I would struggle. I just didn't know how much . . .

I avoided people. Coworkers, my patients even. Go into a room, do what I needed, and get out. I was irritable. I was angry. I didn't want to be bothered. People asked questions. Questions I'm sick of answering. Have you sold your house? When are you moving? Where are you moving to?

I don't. Fucking. Know.

And I'm tired of everyone asking.

Wait.

It's a simple thing. It's not a big deal. People are curious, interested, caring. Making conversation.

But it filled me with rage. I couldn't handle the questions so I withdrew a little more. I gave short answers.

In the afternoon I hid.

I stole away to the report room, sat in a chair in the corner behind the door so people wouldn't see me. That only lasted for half an hour before I got a call from a patient. I left my chair, my temporary sanctuary, to bring my patient pain meds.

I had brought my Nook with me so I decided to try reading. Reading should help, right?

Normally it does. Not today though. Not today. Today I couldn't really focus. After a few pages I would have to take a break. Walk, stretch, check my email. I couldn't focus. I couldn't focus why can't I focus what the hell . . .

My mood was worsening. I grade myself on a scale of 1-10. Five is "normal". Below is moving into depression, above into mania. I started the day at a 3.5. Yes. By 4:00, I was a 2, threatening to go lower. Ever lower.

It can't go lower.

It was. I hid. I hid in the report room again. It was dark in there, the sun was already going down and I left the lights off. I wanted the dark, the quiet. I wanted no one.

Leave me alone.

The charge nurse came in. She didn't know I was sitting there, alone, in the dark. I said boo. She jumped and immediately asked if I was okay.

No. I'm not okay. I'm far from okay.

She offered to take my patients and send me home.

I'll be alright. I'm not okay, but I'll be alright. I can last the rest of the shift. It's only 2 hours. I can do it.

She took my face in her hands and told me to let her know if I needed anything.

Wait. I need help.

Wait.

She left and I sat in the dark, alone. I started to shake, to tremble, lip quivering, tears welling up. I wept. Silently. I tried to stop. I can't have someone catching me crying. Sitting alone in the dark is one thing . . . but crying . . . no.

I stopped crying and I sat, drying my tears, blowing my nose as quietly as I could.

I felt worse. So much worse.

I need to lie down.

I laid down on the floor, in the shadows, behind the door. No one could see me if they were just walking by. Perfect.

Wait.

I was worse. I felt worse. I'm lying on the floor alone in the dark at work and no one knows I'm here and they don't know how bad I feel how bad I've gotten again and that I'm lying here and what I really want to do is die but I can't do that not here not at work and maybe not anywhere but I still kinda want to die and why isn't anyone looking for me?

My mind was racing, I was praying. Please, someone, anyone, find me. Find me and HELP ME. I need HELP don't you understand I NEED HELP!! Someone. Please . . .

Stop.

If someone finds me, if they ask me, I need help. I need to go to the hospital. I want to swallow all of my pills and slit my wrists and  want to go to sleep and not wake up and I know that that's not what I really want. What I really want is for the pain to stop. The pain to fucking END ALREADY.

I'm lying on the floor at work in the dark, hidden from everyone, praying, praying, PRAYING and no one comes. No one comes into the report room. I'm on my side, curled in a ball, full of despair and hopelessness and I start to cry again because no one is coming and no one is helping me and please just someone come and help me because I'm afraid I might hurt myself and it might be real bad this time and I'm scared. No, I'm terrified. My mind races with scenarios of my death and how I might be saved if someone would just FUCKING COME INTO THE ROOM.

But no one does.

I'm miserable. I text my husband. I tell him it's bad, I'm having a rough day, I'm hiding. I don't let on how bad it is because I don't want him to worry. I make him worry so much and I don't want him to worry because I'm okay, really, I'll be okay, I'm fine actually. Just fine.

Stop.

You're not fooling anyone. At least, not yourself. You need to get up. You've been on the floor for 2 hours.

Get up.

I can't. I need to stay longer. Someone may find me and I can get help. I need help. Remember?

Get up.

I sit up. I feel defeated. I feel empty and hopeless and scared and depressed and I don't want to move but I have to move I have to check on my patients and no one is coming to check on me so I have to get up.

Get up.

I stand. I look into the hallway to make sure no one is around while I make my way to the bathroom to clean myself up. I need to be presentable. People can't know that I was crying. That I was silently breaking down and losing my shit while they were doing their work and being happy and normal and not looking for me or helping me because apparently I still do a good job of hiding my suicidal thoughts and depression and no one seems to be the wiser.

Wait.

I check on my patients. They're fine. I was on the floor for 2 hours and they didn't call me and they didn't need anything and they're fine. I sit in the nurses station staring at my phone, scrolling through facebook, trying not to think about how much I hate life and how much I really want to die and then countering my thinking because I know I really don't want to die, remember? You want the pain to stop. You want to not feel like this anymore.

Please.

My shift ends. I give report. I drive home. I tell my husband if I have another day like today I need to be admitted. I need to go to the hospital.

I don't want to go to the hospital. Not again. Please not again.

Help.

 I feel empty and drained and horrifically sad and hopeless and it's maybe more than I can handle. Is it more than I can handle? I wish I knew. And how will tomorrow be? The same? Worse? Better?

Stop.

I wrote this. Before going to bed because if I didn't write this it would consume me and I wouldn't be able to sleep and my mind would probably race even more and I can't have that, not now. Now I need to sleep. It's the only real escape I have.

Fuck you, self

I'm sitting here very restless but very apathetic. There is a torrent of thoughts racing through my mind, none of them good. I hate this feeling. This feeling of needing to do something, anything, but having no idea what to do. But of also not caring enough to even try. Of knowing that everything you do is pointless so there's no sense in doing anything.

I have still been down. I have still felt empty and lost and confused. I have still been horribly withdrawn and, early this morning, I was unaware of this fact. I felt somewhat okay this morning. Sure, maybe I was a little down. Maybe I was feeling a little empty, even a little irritated, but I was okay, right?

Until my best friend, L, came over. Then, I realized, just how not okay I was. I was acutely aware of how down I was feeling. I was acutely aware of how withdrawn I still am (she even made mention of it). Truth be told, I didn't want to talk, I didn't want her company, I didn't want anything except to disappear.

But I couldn't disappear. I couldn't even go on a drive and smoke. See, my son is home sick from school. Can't really take him around with me on a self destructive spree.

So I painted/drew with him and then read while he played games on his kindle.

And I had bad thoughts.

I thought about taking pills. I needed to escape what I was feeling and taking pills seemed like a viable option. But everything I have will sedate me. Which is fine if it only did that for a few hours but the last time I tried it I was in and out of consciousness for a day and a half. I need uppers. I have no uppers. I need percocet so I can feel high. I have no percocet.

So then I thought about alcohol. But the problem with that is drinking with my meds. I can't even take a fucking Benadryl with my meds without being so knocked out the next morning that I can't function. I have therapy in the morning! I have to be functional!

I thought about stopping all of my meds. So that I can maybe be manic. Get the high of mania - the euphoria, energy, on top of the world feeling coupled with invincibility. But that would prove highly destructive.

I'm considering anorexia. I'm not even fucking joking. A slow form of self harm that, hey - will maybe make me look good! Weight loss isn't all bad!

I want to destroy things but I don't have the energy. I want to punch but in order to be satisfied I need to hurt myself.

And I think about all of these things, these self destructive things, and I can't help but wonder if this is all just me trying to self sabotage. I'm trying to make my situation worse. Bring about crisis. Because we all know that I don't seem to function without some form of motherfucking crisis.

I know this. And I'm doing everything to try and counter this thinking. It's not healthy. I'm not healthy. But no matter how hard I try and counter, it doesn't change the fact that the feelings are there. That the thoughts are there. They're FUCKING THERE and nothing I do seems to work!

What the hell am I supposed to do? I see what I'm doing. I know what I'm doing. It's there, right in front of me. And still it happens. And I try, and right now I seem to be failing. I'm too much for myself. I can't counter my own sick mind and I'm going to make things worse.

What. The fuck. Do I do?

You ever put black olives on your fingers?

Well, this is like that only more disturbing.

So I started a war on Facebook with a friend with pics of rogue taxidermy. And bad taxidermy. Because awesome.

I love taxidermy. Especially rogue and awful. I mean, come on, how can you not? So I'm going to share some with you.

You're welcome.

This dog. My God, this dog. I need him. Need. Look at that sweet, "special" face!!

Haaaaaaaaaay!

How does one even do this . . . ? Doesn't stop me from wanting it, but how?? 

This one is just plain gorgeous. And very well done. 

If I had money I would have so much weirdly awesome taxidermy. So much.