I can’t express how desperately I need to create some record of what is happening to me, in my brain. I also can’t express the kind of energy it takes me to paint a picture or write an essay or even a card to a loved one. The focus to stay with something, when I have no other person here to keep me on-track.
I’m sad my family won’t hear about what is going on inside my head until it is confirmed by doctors. Not sad. Heartbroken. Am I not enough of an expert on my own brain to have any credibility?
This is not so with BF. He listens, he offers thoughts, points out funny circumstances…anything I could ask for, if I had the presence of mind to do so. Holds me when I am overcome with terror, calms me with his steady presence. Reassures me that his love is not just for the good times…
I feel so warm and loved.
And so fucking afraid for him. Afraid that my decline will smash his heart. Continuously. (Or is it continually? Crap I can’t remember which one I want to say.) On and on, without stop. Days. Months. Years.
I have been saying things like “I don’t want to die, but…” or “I’m not suicidal, but…”
I want to die. I am suicidal. This pain is unbearable.
But I am a single parent. I’m in no danger of hurting myself, because there are things more important than me and my pain. Things like my kid.
Life hurts too much and is too confusing and I am scared all the time. I am scared to tell anybody how much this hurts because I don’t want to share this burden with someone I care about.
I am scared about money because the wealthy mother prefers to take it all with her.
I am scared about ending up alone because I am a fucking basket case in a new relationship. In a new town, in a new state. With a teenager who didn’t want to move, who doesn’t like it here, and who has no other family but me.
I miss being able to paint. But when I try to create art, nothing happens.
I miss getting into a good book. But I have no focus.
I miss laughing. I miss being there for other people. But I have isolated myself so well and for so long that I could go weeks without leaving the house and nobody would notice, except BF. And what a fucking burden this for BF. And I can’t level with him about this…wtf is he going to do with that information?
I think of soaking in a hot bath and just opening a vein…letting go of everything. Pain. Guilt. Despair. Loneliness. Fear. Conflict. Sweet release.
But there shall be no release for me. How fucking selfish would I be, to leave my kid that kind of legacy?
So I don’t know. What’s next? Cry myself to sleep? Wipe my tears, have dinner with BF, pretend that I’m kinda sorta OK?
I have had depression all my life. But I am 55 years old and I have never felt anything like this before. Nothing that lasted beyond a terrible night or so. This is ongoing. It never lets up.
Last week, I called as many people as I could think of, to try to reach out and feel less lonely and I don’t know. It kinda just made me feel worse.
Holy fuck, what a disaster am I.