This weekend I was devastatingly depressed, until Sunday. Sunday was a good day. And now today, I’m back to laying in bed with the covers pulled up over my head. I missed PHP, again. I don’t feel like dealing with the dog, eating, or finishing laundry.
My psychiatrist will probably say it’s a problem with my meds.
My therapists will know that it’s because I’m alone. Plain and simple. I cannot take being alone. Nothing throws me into a depressive slump quicker. This makes me feel weak and like a burden. I smother those around me. I’m terrified of being alone.
I just urinated on a stick. A magical stick to me that will tell me my future. I bought it at the Dollar General; it was $6. I opted for the name brand over the cheaper one. I figured this is not the occasion to pinch a penny, or two.
I read the instructions twice before, and once while I waited and extremely long 3 minutes.
One line means your life remains unchanged, supposedly.
A crossed set of lines means your whole world has changed, either positively or negatively. I guess it depends on your place in life at the moment.
I got one line tonight and began crying. I don’t know how to feel right now. I am torn between my emotions and logic. I know I cannot afford a child right now, but when will I be able to? So many have told me “you’re never ready to have a child”, but I want to be more ready than I am now.
I yearn for a baby so much right now, it’s unbearable to be around other children. I feel an emptiness that I want filled and believe a child would help fill that void.
I’ll be taking another test in a week. I need to make sure that the results are accurate.
I don’t know what I want them to be though.
I don’t know what it feels like to not have death as an option. Even when I’m considered stable, like I am now, I still think of it often. I haven’t burned myself in so long, my scars have faded and yet, I still think of suicide as a “get out of shitty life” free card. I stare at the giant 15o count bottle of pills and wonder if I’d make it though without throwing up first or passing out. Of course I’d have to eat all of my Vyvanse and Klonopin too. Lamictal won’t cut the mustard. Why is this still an obsession for me? Once it was there, in my brain, it’s like it planted it’s seed to stay. I keep hacking away at the soil around it but, nothing. Will I always struggle with suicidality? What an exhausting existence.