For the first time in a long time, I feel like I am… in danger.
This morning, I had an attack of depression so strong that it made me start thinking the bad thoughts about how nice it would be to just end it all and escape having to live through the hell that awaits me in the future.
That’s what triggered it : thoughts about how both me and the world are doomed.
My own prognosis is terrible. I have so many things going wrong in my body all at the same time. And that’s just the stuff we know about.
There’s probably just as many issues that are as yet undiscovered.
And it would be one thing if I was doing everything possible to get better but I am not.
My diabetes is running rampant. I don’t check my glucose or take my insulin. As we speak, high blood sugar is wrecking my every organ and destroying veins and arteries.
I don’t use my CPAP either. Not even with my new nose-only mask. I have tried to make it work but I can’t seem to get enough air through my nose even with the CPAP doing its job. Or maybe I am just panicking, I don’t know.
I have a serious hernia in my gut that doctors won’t fix because I am too fat. My legs and feet are half dead. One foot has a huge weird callous on it. Both legs have lesions from stasis dermatitis and sizeable open wounds from infections.
And underneath it all is my depression. It’s the eminence grise of this whole empire of decay because it’s the reason I haven’t taken care of myself properly and why I continue to neglect myself.
I know all about the things I should be doing to get healthy.
But I don’t have the energy, focus, or motivation to do them.
I feel like I am trapped on the roof of a burning building with no hope of rescue. I see the flames spreading higher and higher and know that long before they reach me, the whole building will collapse with me still on its roof.
So why not just jump? That’s the thought I keep thinking.
There has to be some way out of this despair. Some way to find hope. I don’t want to want to die any more. It’s getting way too scary.
I could call my therapist. He’s told me many times not to be afraid to call him, day or night. if I feel like my symptoms are getting worse and I am in danger.
Check and check. I would have to overcome a lot of shame and guilt and the feeling like he doesn’t really want to hear from me and doesn’t really care and that I would be interrupting his life and all the rest of that avoidant bullshit. And that’s not easy.
There’s also suicide prevention helplines and such. I can’t imagine them being much help, though. My problems are massive. Even my therapist can barely handle them and he’s got 50 years of experience. I can’t imagine some well-intentioned volunteer being able to even listen to me without being crushed by my issues.
It’s not that my pain is worse than anyone else’s.
It’s that my powers of self-expression plus the labyrinthine complexities of my highly creative and intelligent mind make how I express them so much more than most of the human race can handle.
Luckily, I have you lovely people to read my words.
I feel better now that I have talked this stuff out some. So I think the immediate danger has passed. But the fundamental issues remain lurking just out of sight.
Anyone know how to learn to live life in the moment, without thinking about the future?
Because that would really help right now.
This is not an easy thing for me to write about. Normally I don’t let anyone know about my struggles because I don’t want to worry or upset them.
So bravo to me for taking this step.
More after the break.
Boogying down with the boogeyman
Just like this!
I mean seriously. That song packs more fun per second than an orgasm.
Anyhow, my point was that I am not as depressed as I was earlier, but I feel like I am constantly dodging the demon of my darkness in order to achieve this state.
So I feel sort of okay. But one wrong step and I could fall so hard I leave a crater.
Not fun. I am hoping getting some more sleep will help clear things up.
I have learned to never associate with depression what can be adequately explained by being really fucking tired.
Took a Trazadone this morning. Took a lot of dithering and soul-searching to get to the point where I would take the fucking pill.
I was all ready to do it but then the fear hit me and I had to fight that first.
I was scared of what I knew would happen, which was that I would sleep super heavily and wake up almost completely impaired and have to get my meals and blogging done that way even though I feel like I am dying and that shit could last for days, y’all.
So the passageway to a well rested me is a very harsh one indeed. I wish there was an easier way but if there is, I don’t know it.
Sleeping pills don’t make sleep apnea any better. The opposite, in fact.
And that is so fucking unfair.
Of course, what ended up happening? Nothing. Nothing whatsoever. Never even felt a thing. So fuck ME.
I swear, sometimes it feels like my whole life is a setup to a joke at my expense.
So I dunno. I can’t seem to get along with CPAP and sleeping pills either fuck me up horribly for days or do nothing whatsoever.
Guess I am just doomed to the shitty sleep which is killing me and making it so hard for me to concentrate and remember things.
My working memory doesn’t.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.