Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Back in the Swing of things?
I'm supposed to start journaling again. Journaling is good for the soul, an excellent means of tracking moods - blah blah blah.
It also means being honest with myself. And that is something I really don't want to do because the harsh realities are utterly and wholly depressing.
In 3 days it will have been 11 months since I last worked (thanks God for insurance). In that time the only thing that has changed has been the constant and uncontrollable crying, now I keep it hidden. The anxiety is still there, as is the depression. The medications aren't working, the side effects are difficult and annoying. I have gained all the weight back and find myself where I was 3 years ago. The weight gain has not been especially helpful to my mood, or physical wellness.
I am plagued with headaches, foot pain, tired and sore muscles and a general self-loathing, so repulsed by my physical being it is disgusting. I sometimes think about just getting good and fat and gorging on all the food I crave, but don't like. Fucking McDonald's...
My mood is no better. Happy on the outside, crying and shaking on the inside. The inability to make decisions, about even the simplest things - what to eat, what to wear. The hatred of any loud noise that I can't control... which ultimately means the bird, telling him almost daily that I wish he would die already and leave me alone (But he still gives me kisses and still gets his head rubbed and tickles, damn bird - too cute for his own good). I find myself hating myself, the unperson I have become, and wishing for an end to it all. I cannot end my own life, but the fantasies of an accident, or being killed are too frequent.
I was told by the social worker in charge of the group that my inner walls of protection are what has kept me from embracing the coping skills necessary to heal, accept and continue. Since then I have tried to be true to my emotions, but now I find myself trying to be true to myself. Something extremely hard to do when it hurts, and hating one-self makes that a difficult truth to face.
I dream of strange happenings, vivid and filled with people that care about me doing very strange things. I dream of being an surrounded by famous actors, whether in a film setting or in a life situation. My dreams keep me from wanting to go to sleep at night, the days of a dream-less sleep haunt me, but do not come. How sad that the things you want most are the ones you are most scared of.
I am tired.
I am afraid.
I am lonely.
I hate my life and this condition.
Yet...
i am.
It also means being honest with myself. And that is something I really don't want to do because the harsh realities are utterly and wholly depressing.
In 3 days it will have been 11 months since I last worked (thanks God for insurance). In that time the only thing that has changed has been the constant and uncontrollable crying, now I keep it hidden. The anxiety is still there, as is the depression. The medications aren't working, the side effects are difficult and annoying. I have gained all the weight back and find myself where I was 3 years ago. The weight gain has not been especially helpful to my mood, or physical wellness.
I am plagued with headaches, foot pain, tired and sore muscles and a general self-loathing, so repulsed by my physical being it is disgusting. I sometimes think about just getting good and fat and gorging on all the food I crave, but don't like. Fucking McDonald's...
My mood is no better. Happy on the outside, crying and shaking on the inside. The inability to make decisions, about even the simplest things - what to eat, what to wear. The hatred of any loud noise that I can't control... which ultimately means the bird, telling him almost daily that I wish he would die already and leave me alone (But he still gives me kisses and still gets his head rubbed and tickles, damn bird - too cute for his own good). I find myself hating myself, the unperson I have become, and wishing for an end to it all. I cannot end my own life, but the fantasies of an accident, or being killed are too frequent.
I was told by the social worker in charge of the group that my inner walls of protection are what has kept me from embracing the coping skills necessary to heal, accept and continue. Since then I have tried to be true to my emotions, but now I find myself trying to be true to myself. Something extremely hard to do when it hurts, and hating one-self makes that a difficult truth to face.
I dream of strange happenings, vivid and filled with people that care about me doing very strange things. I dream of being an surrounded by famous actors, whether in a film setting or in a life situation. My dreams keep me from wanting to go to sleep at night, the days of a dream-less sleep haunt me, but do not come. How sad that the things you want most are the ones you are most scared of.
I am tired.
I am afraid.
I am lonely.
I hate my life and this condition.
Yet...
i am.
Dragonfly 10/03/2007 08:39:00 AM
| 2 people trying to cheer me up
| 