I haven't written in a long time.
At first, it was because I was doing better, making positive steps, working on getting my life back together. Lately, I have been getting worse, and today, as I lay here trying to sleep, I burst into tears because I had a moment of clarity: I am back to bad again.
I isolated myself in a new town, pushed away my best friends with reckless and thoughtless actions, let my emotions take over rather than thinking and being rational.
I got blackout drunk and lost one best friend by attacking him.
I overreacted to boy problems, and my reaction caused my other best friend to need a break from me as well.
I got locked out of the house I hadn't finished moving out of because I was too unmotivated to function past necessity, and my over the top reaction to that has caused my family to believe that I am on hard drugs.
God, if that were only true.
At least then, it would be something that would be easily fixed. At least then, it would be something that would explain the irrationality of it all, something to show why I've been so out of my mind.
I can't explain why I've been so irrational, or why I've been reacting to things that normally slide off my back.
I can't explain why I'm not processing things properly, or why I can shut off at work, pretend to be a normal functional member of society, then as soon as I am home, I lay on the couch and do nothing.
I showered once last week. I hardly ate, and I barely slept. I played the part well at work, and most people don't ever see how dead I am inside, how much I don't care about my life or anything. I don't show my pain, or my self hatred, or my general apathy. I don't show how much pain I am in physically, or how hard it is to not throw up each day. I don't know how to handle this. I was diagnosed with gastroparesis in May after being sick since October. Now I know why it is that I feel like death all the time, but there isn't an easy cure. I can't even be properly diagnosed until November when I swallow a Smart Pill that will show exactly what my digestive system is doing every step of the way. I can hardly function most days, but I muddle through somehow in public, putting that facade on once more, the "everything is fine, I'm happy and doing well" mask that I wish would just be my life.
My friends see it when I am around, which hasn't been much lately. They worry over me, and I try to keep pretending, acting like things are just fine, letting excuses fly about a few minor problems to help their concerns. Everything is an act though lately. I go home and I'm numb. I sit and do nothing. I wake up after a few hours, and I put on the act of being an adult. I do errands, buy food I hardly ever eat, and go to work. I get off work, I come home and do it all over again. I pretend to function, and I look halfway decent, and force myself to do enough to survive each day. I force myself to shower at least once a week, eat what I can keep down when I feel like I can force myself to try. I wear clean clothes, and force myself to do laundry when I run low. I look like I am put together, wear makeup when I am especially bad. It helps people get distracted from the fact that my smile doesn't quite make it all the way to my eyes, that my customer service voice is a little bit too cheery, that I don't focus as well, have to write more down to remember what I am talking about. I like having the structure of work, because it means I know what is expected, I know what I can do, and I know what I can't do. I know these things, and can react appropriately.
I know I need to get another doctor, a regular doctor who I can talk to about my concerns, who can adjust my meds, as they are clearly not working as well as they used to. I know I have to. I know that is the logical step in getting back to better. I know that, because I'm not stupid.
I am, however, also back to the paranoid part where I am concerned that they are going to put me in the psych ward, because maybe that is where I belong. Maybe I should be put in a safe place like that, make sure that I don't hurt myself or anyone else when my emotions take over, when I just react without thinking. I just.....I don't know if I am actually ok. I don't know if I can come out of this one. I don't have anyone right now, and it is dangerous to me. I know that, but I still just.....I have a hard time asking for help, when most of my life asking for help meant that I was being weak, which was not worthwhile, meant that I was too much trouble. I thought I was past this feeling. I thought I was ok. I thought that this was at least something that I was past.
This time the spiral is scaring me, because it is faster, and I don't know how to pull out of it on my own. Well, that isn't entirely true. I know how to pull out of it. I just don't know if I have the strength to do so on my own. I am terrified, and noone sees it, because everyone is gone, pushed away when the spiral slowly started. I want to be dead every day, but I don't want to say it and have people pity me. I don't want those looks, the ones that show up every time I am really me.
I miss my best friends kicking my ass out of my funk, making me see myself, fight for myself, fight for them. I miss having people who love me nearby, but I want to be in a better place for myself. I want to be able to survive without someone's help. I want to be capable of living without someone's help. I am miserable knowing that I can't do that yet. I am not able to survive on my own still, at 30 years old. Who the hell can't function at 30 as an adult? Who the hell still needs help at 30?
This spiral of worthlessness and defeat is hard to pull out of. The facade is easier to keep up, an easy part to fall back on, the dumb girl who has things easy, with everything working out well. The newer people don't look past it, with few exceptions. The mask slips a bit and the observant notice, but accept "I just don't feel well today" as an answer. The unobservant think I'm nothing, not realizing the mask is even there, assuming I am just bubbly, happy, carefree, dimwitted even. Sometimes I let my intelligence slip out, and watch the confused looks, the quick dismissal. My pain gets easier to mask, the consistency becoming normal, with few exceptions. The nausea waves come, but I find it easy to keep it down most days, as there isn't much in my system to throw up anyway. I leave work exhausted from pretending to be someone ok, someone not in pain. I talk about work on my breaks so I don't have to think about the situations I have put myself in, because who would understand that I recognize that it is insane to behave in these ways, but I can't stop myself at the time of them? That when I'm overwhelmed, my rational thoughts are there, but not loud enough to overpower the agony, the sorrow, the rage, the betrayal felt. That getting blackout drunk, to lose my control, to not remember that I couldn't feel anything but pain and sadness, seemed like a better idea than to feel them. That running away when I could hardly see through the tears and agony of my family deciding I was worthless, a liar, a druggie, seemed easier than accepting that in my rage of the betrayal I felt, I fucked up, and I made choices that could have been better. I let my feelings take over, because I was alone and scared, and losing my safety net.
I am not in control, and I recognized it too late. And I don't know how to fix it, because death would be easier. I don't want to kill myself, but I want to die every day. I don't want to live this way, scared that I will never be able to function. I don't know how to ask for the help I need. "Figure out what you want and learn how to ask for it." Yeah, sure. Easy enough. Just do the one thing that makes me feel like I'm even worse off than I already feel. Shit.
