Tomorrow will be one month of me not writing anything on my blog. Honestly, I’ve just had no motivation to write, to take photos, to socialize… Not that I socialized a whole lot anyway, but even more so this past month. I’ve honestly had a lot of anxiety with such a big life transition coming up and personal issues that have just taken it’s toll on me for the last seventeen years. And honestly, even though I feel like I’m completely falling apart, I’m holding it together pretty well compared to my last episode.
I’m handling this relatively well. Well, much better than 2019’s shit show.
I’m not drinking my liver away, I can’t even finish a beer most of the time. I haven’t smoked a single cigarette. I haven’t scratched my face or my arms off. And I’ve only been *almost admitted one time, but I think I was cunning enough to convince them to put me in a new outpatient program rather than an inpatient program. But sometimes I think going inpatient would be beneficial, but only during the times that I feel like I’m going to let myself slip into a deep, deep depression. I think I’m pretty aware of how I’m doing since I keep tabs on myself.
Am I moody? Does my husband mention that I’m more irritable and mean? Am I eating regularly? What are my physical manifestations? I keep track of these things because my old therapist said he wanted to find a pattern. Have I found anything out? Not really. Except for the fact that the worst physical manifestation of anxiety has got to be the nausea and vomiting when I’m hungry. I might as well be pregnant again (I’m not, I checked.)
There are definitely some topics that trigger my anxiety, and two of them have come up recently. Part of me wants to keep it a secret, the other part of me wants to put it on blast to the world. I don’t think I’m ready for that though, so I’ll sit here with it, like I always have. It’s just so disappointing, really.
In the past two years, I have become more aware of those who really mean well and genuine friends and family. I know that these are the people that even if we’re out of touch for some time, they’ll still defend me and stand with me; not become defensive toward me and leave me. I thank my extremely small circle of trust for keeping me afloat and for showing me what compassionate love is in dark times.
I hope that whatever therapy I’m supposed to start helps. Last time I almost got hit by a car because I was so zoned out driving into oncoming traffic after therapy. T_T. I hope that is not the case this time. Maybe I can actually make some progress in finding some level ground in my head and not constantly think that my baby would be better off without me. Here’s to therapy 3.0 and another slew of psychiatric medications to trial and error with. So. exciting.