2012 falls apart

I haven't written in almost three months. Things started going downhill for me in November, and got really rough in December. I have so much to tell, to help spread the awareness and break the stigma. But for tonight. I've decided to share an entry from my personal blog that I wrote around the same time I wrote the last posts on here. I believe in what I'm doing here with all my heart, and I want to keep it going.



SUNDAY, DECEMBER 16, 2012


I have not been doing well. At all. For months. Meds meds meds, it's always meds. And hormones. And job stress. And feeling lonely. Being alone. And deciding what to do with the rest of my life.

I have never been this bad, with regard to mental illness. Mom is worried for my safety. I am worried for my sanity, whatever's left of it. I just need a break, to figure things out and get better and figure out who I'm supposed to be. Because I didn't exactly figure that out in my 20s. And they are about gone. I've actually had the serious thought that going inpatient would be a relief to get myself straightened out.  Who in their right mind wishes for the psych ward? I mean, seriously. I haven't felt so weak in years. Even then, I was higher functioning than I am now.

I'm not sure what else to do. Just keep swimming, I guess. Keep going to work and getting the work done. I cannot believe how much they like me because I feel like a complete loser. Doctor's appointments, leaving early,  working from home. No one has said "no" to me, when I ask, but I just have this feeling that the shoe will drop in time. Sooner rather than later. I'm just trying to cope. I'm not doing  a very good job at it.

The tension. I feel like I could burst into a million pieces while simultaneously wanting nothing more than to curl into the fetal position in the dark, where no one can see me. I'm fat. I'm lazy. I'm completely unhappy.  And there is nothing I am doing about any of it. Well, I take the meds. I have fought like HELL to get through 4-5 med changes this year alone.  I fight and I fight and I don't seem to find enough relief. More than anything, I want to.

I can't stop thinking about the fact that I have no reason to feel this way. That's why I get so frustrated. These chemicals are taking control of who I am and I don't even recognize myself anymore. I wish I could say I'm being melodramatic. How I wish I was being obnoxious and overstating things.

I'm tired of fighting meds. I'm tired of battling money literally EVERY day. I'm tired of everything being about money. I'm tired of feeling like a robot that just goes through the motions.

I want fulfillment. I want love. I want friends and I want to spend time with them (this one thing, actually, happens sometimes). I want to be a wife. I want to be a mom. I want to feel like myself.
Why, for better half of a decade, has this seemed so unreachable to me?