I’m trying to stay positive, and I’m trying to internalize the meaning of the words I wrote yesterday and that I’ve written on so many days prior. The ones that try to put some sort of purpose to the bad days, those terrible, terrifying days. I’m trying. But how can I reconcile all that with all this:
“right so I thought this particular episode might have been fucking over, but i dunnoooo about that. like i had a really good morning yesterday and i thought things were going smoothly. got to work and was hit with a sickening amount of anxiety bc that place disgusts me in a way i cannot begin to describe. but as sick as i felt (and as exhausted as i was from two weeks of being tortured by the piece of shit brain i have knocking around in my skull), i was thinking i could make it a good day. freaked out when i realized i had to stay longer than i thought i’d have to. holding back tears, wanted to die, same old bullshit. i survived and that’s great, and i didn’t have a TOTAL meltdown which i guess is an improvement. but today i’m irritable and fucking fuckkkk and i’m terrified that this fucking bullshit is just gonna repeat itself continually and without at least giving me the mercy of a break in between. so yeah. have to survive today. and tomorrow. and the next day. i’m off Friday and Saturday, so those’ll be good day (i mean, nothing is guaranteed, obv, but at least i’ll have two days to sob and hide away completely if need be). i’m ignoring the knot in my stomach. i’m ignoring the overwhelming feeling that something nondescript is wrong, so very very wrong. i’m fine. i’m alive. i’m not in physical danger. i’m sitting with the feeling and naming it and it’s there but i’m more than it. is this fake ass positivity fooling anyone? cause it ain’t fooling me”
I’m confused. I know I have to attribute a lesson to the pain because otherwise just strap me up and throw me in a padded fucking room. And I know I have to try to have a good attitude because wallowing in self-pity just isn’t a way to go through life.
But tell me…How. Am. I. Supposed. To. Do. That.
I’m gonna try to figure it out. Look at this nonsenseeee logically (if I can). Maybe do what I love to do and make a list.
I just really really hope that I can work on being so goddamn happy and grateful and calm during the times when I’m not in, active crisis, not in the depths of an episode, that it sticks with me during the bad times. I’m picturing it like an ice pick, for some reason? Like, if I can puncture the depression with an ice pick preemptively, maybe they’ll be less…earth-shattering? I’m not saying they’ll be less intense (I’m fairly certain the past like, 5 or 6 episodes, they’ve gotten progressively worse). I’m not even saying I’m gonna be able to avoid them (they’re inevitable, although I do have hope that they’ll be fewer and farther between). But if I use sane moments to create something to puncture it all with, I dunno, maybe that’ll be the “coping skill” that’ll finally help me for reals.
Also, in this moment of fucking brain-melt, it’s somehow comforting to picture my body pierced by an ice pick, stabbed right through my brain or even my heart. Violence is oddly helpful for me. I think it captures the intensity better. Same reason I love cursing (even though people assume those who curse like I do aren’t as intelligent because we “can’t find better words”). I feel those words in my soul. And I feel the graphic violence (metaphorically) in who I am. I’m not gonna stab myself obviously. And maybe this is a terrible way to end this post. But hey, it’s my blog. At least I have control over THAT.