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Our beloved car died Thursday. The timing belt broke and ruined the engine. The repair is costly, as it would need to be completely replaced.

I was doing better, but the last couple of days has brought death thoughts again. I don’t want to get out of bed, or do anything. I just cry, want to disappear and feel sick to my stomach. I haven’t eaten barely at all.

Seriously, I thought that I was doing better, I really did. I am damn sick and tired of this mental sickness, this desire to self destruct. I don’t understand why it won’t go away. I’ve done everything in my power to get better and I am still stuck in this place.

The minutes feel like torture. The hours….they go by in agony.

I don’t even know why I bother to write anything. Seems pointless, just like my life is.

Tale of a former pothead

I could pass a pee test with flying colors right now.

I haven’t smoked pot in any great quantity in a long time. I think I took a tentative toke back in May with the hopes of feeling less sad, but the taste and smell actually made my stomach churn. The idea of smoking marijuana just doesn’t appeal to me anymore.

The good old days….

One of my favorite things to do whilst high was to run naked down my driveway.

Believe it or not.

Mind you, it was a daily occurrence for many years. I considered myself a true pothead. I started to notice that it was contributing to my overall depressed mood and made me feel even more lethargic. Plus, it didn’t do much for my pain. I told myself that it did, but I was lying. 

I have some left. Anyone interested?

I wonder if it goes stale?

Anyways, I have no interest in touching it. I might again someday, who knows, but for now I think that I will take my leave of the green buds. Yet I still support the right for people to smoke it if they want.

Poof, you’re cured!

My carpet removing adventure caught up with me like I knew it would, so I stayed home from group today. It’s rather painful to walk right now, so I decided to keep off of them the best that I can. It’s okay to baby myself sometimes.

Repeat as needed.

Besides that, the inpatient program runs in 2 week cycles. It started over again yesterday. They teach DBT skills and since I was there back in 2011, I am aware of all of them. I am like a computer that needed reprogramming.

DBT stands for dialectical behavior therapy. Some of it is quite confusing, but I tend to stick to the skills that make the most sense to me. My favorites are mindfulness, opposite action, distraction and thought stopping. I use those particular ones daily. The rest are more difficult to wrap my head around.

I like simple things, or else my head explodes. Messy.

There is no magic wand, no quick cure for depression and anxiety. I wish there was. It would be nice if the lovely people at Oakview could just go “poof” there ya go. All cured. No more icky thoughts about being better off dead or feeling like you are doomed.

If only.

One lady was there last Friday and she had the most negative energy emanating from her. She sat next to me at lunchtime and with a scowl on her face told me that she didn’t see the point in coming to group.

“They told me that this wasn’t a support group, but I knew that it was. I don’t care about other peoples problems, I am here for them to fix me.”

Selfish

Myself and a few others heard what she said but didn’t respond. I had no words to offer. I think a huge part of the whole program is to hear other peoples experiences and to offer support. Thankfully, this woman did not show up yesterday. I absorb other peoples shit constantly, so this made me happy.

I think that my new medications are doing something positive for my brain chemistry. Each morning I pop a pill and feel hopeful about it. It’s like having an infection and taking an antibiotic. You can feel the sickness leaving your body a bit at a time. It’s getting less heavy. When I have a shitty thought, I can bounce it away like a rubber ball faster. Oh yeah, you can bet your sweet bippy that the nasty stuff still infiltrates my thoughts.

Everything sucks.

You have nothing to live for.

Nothing matters.

You can’t survive life because you are weak. Bwahahaha.

Having the ability to write something here is a miracle in itself. Having a shred of humor is even more amazing. A month ago I was in the hospital after planning my demise and half-assedly following through with it.

Things are far from perfect. I continue to bat away negative thoughts, which is tiresome. I made a couple of phone calls yesterday and lost my cool. I started obsessing over money again, thereby making myself feel ill. Anxiety is my depression copilot.

When breathing doesn’t help, I turn to my pill bottle. No shame at all here, my friends. We do what we have to do.

I have anxiety about what to do with myself when group ends. I know that a life sitting on my ass feeling sorry for myself is a recipe for disaster. I can’t go down like that. I was letting myself become my disease. Having fibromyalgia is no picnic, but I can still do many things.

The hardest part will be finding out what still remains once all of this dust settles.