Stop

I’m doing this thing I’ve heard people do – take a lunch break. And you know what? Fuck feeling guilty. I would feel guilty if I flipped the freak out and smashed someone in the face because their voice was irritating me and I couldn’t take it anymore and snapped. That I would feel guilty for. So, while I take a lunch break to prevent assaulting my coworkers, I refuse to feel guilt.

I wish I could refuse a few other things I’m feeling. My heart feels like it’s jumping all over the place. I’m jittery and sick in the stomach. The familiar weight is smothering me. I’m miserable and angry and scared and frustrated and trapped and all over the place. I’m making bad plans and thinking bad things and all the while attempting to work and focus and concentrate on fitting the stupid headline in the hole about the stupid story that isn’t worth the paper it will be printed on. Rewriting stupid press releases that are out of date. Looking at the clock, scared. Wondering how I can be here and be here and be here until the end of the day.
How is it that I haven’t exploded? That I haven’t dropped dead? My heart shouldn’t be capable of beating when I feel this way.
Lunch break isn’t helping with these things. In fact it gives me time to feel everything. So I will go back, hoping some miracle finds me. Saves me. Takes me away.

Mad, bad, sad

Mad, bad, sad, mad, bad sad, mad bad, sad. These words often worm their way into my head and repeat over and over – a twisted mantra. The more I try not to think of them, the more insistent they become. Mad. Bad. Sad. I don’t know where they came from. All I know is they churn me up inside and make me want to cry. I feel weak and helpless. Scared. Young. These words wound me, or rather, come from a time of wounding, and their repetition serves to pick at the scab.

Mad,  bad, sad.

These words make me not want to be.

Weekend weariness

The weekend goes quickly. Too quickly.

I am dreading, dreading, dreading the week. I just don’t feel I have the energy or patience to bother with it. I really would rather skip the whole thing and spend my days in bed instead.

Today I caught up with a few friends. That is a saying I’m not used to using. I’ve not had friends since school, really. I’ve had work friends, but not the type of friends you would meet up and do things with. Now I have a few friends, outside work. We aren’t BFFs or anything. Maybe that’s something that could develop though. It is nice to have someone to catch up with, and send messages to every now and then and the like. But I’m so awkward. I’m not a very good friend. I don’t know what they see in me. That aside, I will hold onto them. I’ll take what they offer. Even if I don’t deserve it. These friends are people I have met through hospital and group therapy. I’m so lucky I have a few people I can be more real with. We are able to talk about things which we can’t with the others.

Having friends now also makes me a little sad for the years I haven’t. And for not having someone who I would consider a best friend. But then again, I’ve been hurt by close friends before. Maybe I’ve not been open to having close friendships because of that.

The rest of today went quickly. I was very low after coming back from coffee with the girls. Being social takes a lot out of me. Trying to be okay is exhausting.

I planted plants though – some ferns in a hanging planter thingy, and seedlings in a pot. I enjoyed that.

This afternoon my mood lifted a bit. Seems to be a trend. Actually, the trend lately is yo-yoing all over the place. But my psychiatrist said “rapid cycling” was quite normal with cases like mine. So it’s normal and I just deal with it? Even if I feel out of control? Ugh I don’t want to get into it. That’s a blog for another day.

Goodnight.

Waiting, withering

I am spending my Friday morning sitting in the waiting room at my psychiatrist’s office. My appointment was 15 minutes ago but she hasn’t arrived yet.

There is a pyramid of cheerleading elephants sitting on my chest. I feel awful. But I look fine so it’s okay.

Outside the sky is crying. I think it’s because today is the day of K’s funeral – a woman from work. I am not going. I can’t handle it.

I don’t want to be anymore. Breathing , being hurts.
It’s okay though. I’m being babysat by my parents. At the age of 27.

When the psychiatrist eventually comes and eventually asks me the expected question: “How are you?” I will say I’m okay. It’s the usual response. There aren’t words to begin to explain the rest. My words pack up and leave me when am in that room with her, or anyone trying to fish in my head swamp.

She’s 25 minutes late now. I won’t complain. I never do. She’s busy, and the sky’s crying. That makes things harder.

Barely being

Tomorrow marks the second week out of hospital.
My mood is low but that’s okay because apparently I look well. That’s all that matters.
I’ve actually been wearing makeup – blush and all – as I attempt to look normal and in control. People have complimented me. And maybe that’s what I wanted, but it just makes me feel worse. Fake. Empty. Alone in this.
I feel abnormal and lost.
Nothing’s real.
I’m a waste of space and time. And I don’t want to be here.

Ho hum…

I went home for the weekend. It was okay, but I just don’t enjoy anything. Instead I get frustrated and want to escape. I’m glad to be back in the hospital but also sad because I have been here for four weeks and I don’t feel there has been much change. Saying that makes me feel like I am ungrateful for the time here and the help from those around me. But I can’t lie. I am deeply unhappy.

I will most likely be going home on Tuesday and then I’m not sure what I’m meant to do. I don’t feel strong enough to deal with life, and I’m increasingly dreaming of a release from this world.

If someone asked me what I wanted to happen, I would have no words. In fact I really have no clue. I just don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to feel paper thin – like the smallest gust of wind would send me tumbling. Like I’m at risk of tearing in two at any moment.

Sometimes I think a few more weeks here could be helpful, but not with Mum and Dad around. I feel like I need space from them to be me without judgment. I need space to let things out without having to stuff them back in again so tight, so quickly that I don’t know who I am or what I’m thinking or feeling. But it won’t happen. I’ll go home on Tuesday, I’ll go to work next week and I’ll feel the same. I think that’s what everyone expects me to do – just suck it up because there’s nothing they can do for me. I don’t know who “everyone” is exactly – the doctor, the nurses. I think they are all sick of me, and rightly so. I’ve wasted so much of their time. I can’t talk to them. I can’t explain anything. I don’t even know what I’m meant to say. I’m so pathetic. And I know I should challenge that thought, but how do you challenge it when it’s so absorbing? When I feel it in my whole being?

I know I probably sound melodramatic and cliche, but I’m fed up. I need this to lift just a bit so I can breathe a little. I need something to hold on to. Need, need, need. My neediness and weakness disgust me.

Should I write down how I feel, what I think? Should I give that to the doctor? Would she think me pathetic and immature? Would it be better than answering her, “How are you,” with “Okay” as I usually do?

I have realised that I often expect, or not expect, but hope for people to “see me”, to be able to see how I feel and think and how much I am hurting and then do something about it. You would have thought by now that I’d have worked out that’s not how things work at all. You would have thought I learnt that the hard way in fact, when I was just a girl and no one came to my rescue. But I still have this pathetic fantasy – my happy ever after dream. What’s wrong with me?

I could go on but it would all be along the same boring negativity I am caught up in. My whole existence is caught up in it. I’m not sure I’ll ever get out.