Saturday, April 21, 2012


A month ago, I checked myself into a mental health facility to get myself a medication adjustment that needed to happen immediately.  I have been suffering from sever, debilitating depression since last May when my medication abruptly stopped working one day.  (It probably wasn't all that abrupt, but that's how it felt to me.)  So now, I struggle to figure out which issues belong to my alcoholic/addicted brain, and which issues belong to my depression and bipolar.

Then, in addition to this, my husband's ridiculous travel schedule.  I can't think straight, I'm agitated all the time. I don't feel normal.  I feel like I'm going to explode.  AND in addition to all of that, I feel completely ignored by him.  He tells me I'm not alone, but he acts like I'm not here, except to come in and ask me what my thoughts are for dinner.  I feel like telling him his head on a platter is what's for dinner.  I am left with screaming, fighting, autistic kids, most of whom have no way of self regulation.  I can barely function, yet I should know what we're having for dinner.  I can't even find clean underwear so I can shower most of the time.  This medication I am taking is fine, except for the dosage increase has left me feeling irritable, unable to concentrate, shaky, and mildly psychotic.  I am SO sick of having a couple of moments of peace here or there.  I am out of control, because I have no control.  I should just let my kids do whatever the hell they want whenever they want, so that they can be criminals.  And I have NO help, because my husband is ALWAYS gone.  And when he is here, I'm never doing it right.  There's always an issue with something I've done.

I give up.  It's NEVER EVER going to be good enough, right.  I'll never BE enough, worth enough, worthy enough.  I was in that psych ward with a crazy woman who kept praying, "Dear God, please take my life." Over and over.  She just kept repeating it.  It freaked me out.  But you know what?  I GET IT.  Because I know what it feels like to be irreparably broken.  To be in so many pieces that I cannot heal.  I sit and think about ways to die.  Which ones would be easy/painless.  I can't shoot myself, I don't have a gun, and I don't want anyone to find me like that.  If I took a bunch of pills when I went to bed... I could just go to sleep, and die.  I think about going to the lake and floating it after I take pills, but if/when they found my body, it would be nasty looking, and I wouldn't want to leave that image either...  I just don't know how much more of this I can take.  Between this and the fucking clique in our AA group, that CLEARLY is all in my head, NOT.  They go to LUNCH together, and if I get to go, it's because I happened to overhear and invite myself.  They all went fishing, and it was NEVER announced at group level, people were just talking about it.  Well, it's not polite to butt in and say, "Hey, I want to come."  They're all camping this week.  Good for them.  But it fucking hurts, and I am sick of feeling like I'm in high school.  SO, it's time to graduate, kids.  Grow the FUCK UP.  It's ridiculous for people in their 50s and 60s to act this way.  Time for me to find another group, I think.

OK, that's it for me.

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