Friday, January 11, 2019

Word vomit.

Well, here I am again. Empty, depressed, borderline suicidal.

We knew that the good wouldn't last forever. Yes, it's been a long time since we've dealt with this side of bipolar/borderline personality. I almost forgot how awful it is. I'm currently on day three of this valley and have spent a lot of time crying, a lot of time thinking and a lot of time trying to hide behind a smile.

But that's how it goes, isn't it? The dark cloud comes over and your whole world changes, so often for no reason at all. Reaching out, especially when suicidal, can be so difficult. There is always the cliché "Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem" and the obvious "just take deep breathes." To be 100% honest, these things just make me more irritable despite the advice giver's good intentions. Although, I guess there's nothing anyone can really say when I'm in this spot that truly helps. In fact, I've found that for me, talking is the last thing I want to do, unless it's spilling words onto the computer. Why? Because the computer doesn't talk back. I can let it all out without hearing all of the clichés out there that people think they are supposed to say when someone is depressed or be told how important and loved I am when all I want is silence.

I know how I sound, here. It's not that I don't appreciate the sentiment. I love that people care about me and try to help. It's that when I'm deeply depressed, I'm not going to believe a single word anyone says. The only voice I'm listening to is the one in my head and that's the only one that can pull me out.

I wish it wasn't this way. I have an amazing support system and I don't want to discredit that. The voice in my head reminds me that I have them to live for even though I don't deserve them and am far from good enough. And as I start to come out of it I remember that my husband holds me as I sob for no reason because he loves me. That my family and friends support me because they care. That maybe I am good enough.

And then I'm back.

Now that I've written all of this out, I can say that I'm doing better than I was when I wrote that first sentence. Just putting it all out there and working through my emotions via a keyboard has, once again, been therapeutic. I'm still not ok, I'm still anxious and tired and down. But I've remembered how much I matter, and that's something I didn't have when I started writing this morning.

With that, all I can say is "onward."



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