Yes. You read the title correctly. I’d rather be an irritable fool than this bag of useless nothing I am now.
Every year this time I seem to go under and drown in a sea of hopelessness. I have trouble sleeping even whilst on sleeping meds; I am extremely negative and the suicidal ideation is a problem.
If I were manic, my manic, at least I’d be doing something productive and not lay in bed all day fixated on ways to hurt myself.
My manic is romantic. One or more times a day I’d snap -of course- but I’d still be smooth, confident and a true magician with my charm.
I’ve been in recovery for a while now and experienced the odd off mood but this is different. This reminds me of the many years of depression I struggled with before. Years of torment I thought was gone.
I want to be gone.
I’m so glad I’m not working because facing people would be very difficult. Firstly, I’d need to shower. And that right now is not happening. Secondly I’d have to plaster on a thick impasto mask to hide the hurt within. The hurt that I inflict upon myself -my mind the hell that it is -spewing lie after lie.
My nanny says I shouldn’t let the devil attack me like this. I’m a strong woman she says.
For today I am broken.
I’m going to see my psychiatrist today. I want her to fix this. I’m getting tired of saying I’m fine and that I’ll be okay.
-This is not a cry for help. I’m open about my mental health because so many other people can’t be. I’m not scared of being judged.