Writing has become part of how I deal with my thoughts. It’s sometimes really therapeutic and can help me at a later stage to figure things out. Some of what I write is hard to read over again because I wasn’t sober or I don’t remember things and it’s a shock to read what I was feeling.
Working out what to write is also really hard, I sometimes wish that I was interested in something that I could talk about, that I was smarter and had a deeper knowledge and understanding of things so that I could discuss things which were important. Instead I waffle on and on about myself. I feel like I am just incredibly self-centred and pathetic. I often wonder what the point of all this really is. Who is really going to give a shit?
I never intended to write this as a sob story, to have people pity me, or anything. Just wanted my head to be quiet. I wanted all the stuff that rushes around to be stilled for just a moment or two. Sometimes writing this does have the desired effect and my head will just stop, even for that moment, I feel some release and that’s a good feeling. But then, it starts again. It’s just all a vicious circle that really seems to be never-ending.
My psychiatrist accused me of giving up the other week. I am not giving up, if I had given up i wouldn’t still be actively working with her and my counsellor or the other people who are suddenly in the picture. I would just get out of my head on drugs and drink and I wouldn’t give a shit anymore…I haven’t got there, I have been close, but I haven’t given up.
BUT today, I feel really, really low. I cannot begin to explain it because I really don’t know what it is. I felt it yesterday too, only this feels worse somehow today. Having a bit of the kids bugs doesn’t really help, but it’s not the end of the world. I know that. But today, I feel that way. I just feel like I have lost myself and now I am just walking around with mental health problems and nothing is working. I don’t feel like I have moved forward at all with my recovery. I get wound up about such unimportant things, forget the important things, resent having to be a mother and a wife a lot of the time. I don’t want to do anything. I am not interested in anything. This makes me feel like a failure as a human being. I just don’t really care today, about anything. All I want to do is sleep. Nothing else. I don’t feel like I want to talk to anyone, I don’t want to have to think, I don’t want to go out. The noises in my head are downright weird and confusing. I no longer trust what I hear or see. The other day all I could see was smoke. It was everywhere I looked and no matter what I did, or where I went there was smoke. My sleeping, I am now getting some but it doesn’t feel restful at all. It feels exhausting and the dreams are not nice. I am no longer sure why I am on some of the meds i am on.
I feel that I am lost inside some place and I have no idea where to look. I just have this fucked up person who has taken over. I have this overwhelming sense of guilt that I am a bad person. That I destroy things, like the relationship with my mum and siblings, that I am now destroying my own family. My friends are barely around these days and there’s not much that I really want to do about it because that would mean having to put on a mask and a fake smile and tell them very little. It’s hard to be like that.
To be honest, I am not sure that I even know what I want any more. I know that I want to make sure my kids are OK, but I have no idea where my marriage is headed or whether we will ever be close again, emotionally, mentally and physically. There are rare moments when we seem to have it still and then its gone again. I feel sad and very alone.
In the real world I am just struggling more and more and more. Everything seems to hard. Typing tweets, texts, dms, this is really hard work. My head is always working faster than I would like, yet it’s also really slow at the same time. My memory is dreadful, truly dreadful and I feel ashamed that I can’t remember things as I should. I am not old by any stretches of the imagination. I am young and capable, yet I feel like a small child. I want someone to come and look after me. To worry about the things which i should be on top of but I am not. To help me with the little things and to be there to soothe me when I am panicking or freaking or whatever.
Is it my mum I want. The other day when I had the panic attack it felt like that’s what I wanted more than anything. But I am not sure any more. I don’t know what I want. I just know that I don’t want to have to think or feel any more that I don’t want to feel the things I feel, remember what I do or any of it. I wish I could just make it all go away and then be a good wife and mother with some room for me. At the moment, there is just no one. It’s all a disaster and I am not finding myself any better than I was 2 years ago when my sleeping began to be an issue. Have I lost myself to this illness? For now, I think I have.