If anyone dared to truly listen, their horror would be as great as my own….
I wrote 3 or 4 different posts this week. I shared none. Deleted all but this one, deciding to rework it and try to make sense of how I’ve been feeling this past week. I’ve been too caught up in the negativity of my mind to gain any insight from writing lately. I rationalized, “I would only be repeating myself if I shared these thoughts and criticisms of myself with the world yet again. Complaining doesn’t change anything.” Living in constant fear and paranoia doesn’t either.
It was another very strange week. Something happened on Tuesday that I cannot write about online. It has nothing to do with me or KR; but it triggered something in me that left me filled with a fear I cannot describe — on top of all the uncertainties I’m facing in my relationship with KR right now. Terror? Horror? Not only for myself, but for a family I know only as an acquaintance, who is obviously struggling, yet making all the wrong decisions. I don’t feel safe enough to write about the details of Tuesday’s events here. I fear for my safety should I disclose any of what I witnessed, and I fear for my freedom for not having reported what I unwittingly walked into.
I’m wondering, now, if I have good reason to feel this paranoid or if I’ve seriously nose-dived off the deep end into psychosis.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
How do I know if what I’m feeling is real? My counselor said that sometimes “feelings” lie. Is that true? How do I know if everything I’ve been feeling and experiencing for the last 2 weeks isn’t just some really screwed up flashback, triggered by KR’s meltdown? The better question is what do I do if it is?
“Maybe I should be medicated.” That thought has crossed my mind more times over the past two weeks than I care to admit. In addition to fearing KR’s reaction, I chose not to stay at the local crisis stabilization unit because the person I spoke with told me that medication would most likely be a requirement of me this time. She went on and on about how the “right” medication could make all the difference in the world. I tried finding that “right” medication for 13 years (Medications I have tried so that no one thinks I’m exaggerating here. This may not even be a complete list. These are the ones I specifically mentioned in my journals: Prozac, Paxil, Trazadone, Wellbutrin, Zoloft, Lorazepam, Effexor, Seroquel, Celexa, Abilify, Lexapro, Remeron, Risperdal, Adderall, Lamictal). It was sheer hell! None helped. My counselor and I also discussed this a bit on Monday. He asked if I would be willing to at least consider speaking with one of their psychiatrists.
I don’t know anymore.
I feel like I am in crisis.
History feels like it’s repeating itself. I feel like I’m stuck in a never-ending loop that has me questioning reality again. “Am I already dead and stuck in purgatory? When did I die? What if there is no reality at all? What is this then?” Time feels like it’s moving backwards, like my adult experiences are what influenced my childhood fears. A Benjamin Button moment. I know, it’s a “crazy” thought; but I have a hundred flavors of “crazy” in my head — all as plausible, in my mind, as the next. I feel like I’m losing my mind. I feel so lost and confused. If I’m not ruminating, I’m completely disconnected from my thoughts, an eerie silence that is truly maddening.
When I’m around KR, I’m disconnected from him, too. We’re not communicating. He’s still sleeping on the couch. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells around him. I feel like a ghost in this house, so far displaced from my mind that I feel beside myself, out of my mind — literally — watching “me” close as a hawk, go through the motions of daily routines, whispering, “Get up. Let’s get a shower. You’ve been sitting a while; let’s move around. Time to start dinner. Careful with that knife. Watch the oven door; it’s hot.” Or I simply sit, doing nothing. This is more than the inability to feel pleasure and lost interest in usual pleasurable activities. It’s like being frozen in time, completely numb to my emotions and surroundings.
I need peace and quiet. I need safety and stability. I need to feel secure in my surroundings and relationships with other people. This depression has offered very little relief over the past 3 and a half years. The anxiety is relentless. Last night, I tried to make myself attend a free movie night at one of our local history museums; but somewhere between here and there, panic took over. I parked my car outside the ER, waited 15 minutes sitting in my car, then turned around and went back home! WHY do I do this crap?!
All the times I’ve ever considered taking my own life, I thought, “This world would be better off without me.” Somehow, that thought has changed to, “I would be better off without this world.” I can change nothing. Maybe I am in the midst of psychosis and not thinking clearly; but I’m resolved. I have nothing left to give. I am emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausted. I cannot continue expressing my despair and hopelessness with the expectation that someone, anyone, might save me from myself. Ultimately, I am the only person who can save me. I just don’t want to. I want to give up, relinquish my right to live. The emotional pain is too unbearable. I’m numb from fear and terror. I’m out of my mind with loss and grief. I’m imploding in anger and rage. And isolation holds me captive in despair. There’s no escaping this cyclone of emotion that drowns me, suffocates the life right out of me. This physical body is all that’s left to purge….
And yet, I continue to hold on despite it all.
I think I may need to be hospitalized.
I think for the remainder of the night, or at least until KR gets home (if he comes home tonight) I will learn to play this song on the piano. I desperately need a fight song.