Depression At Its Worst

I have spent the majority of today in bed, not because I was tired, but because I lacked the will to do more.

I can’t get out of my head.

I managed, at one point to eat a bowl of cereal. At another point in the day, I managed a shower.  I know I need to make myself a sandwich and eat lunch so I can go work out later, but I can’t motivate myself to do it.

I’m not weepy. I’m not hurting physically today. I have no good reason for feeling so damned melancholy. I certainly have no reason to continually be thinking about suicide, but it doesn’t stop the thoughts from occurring. They’re like a boomerang. The more I shout “No” to them, the more they come back. It’s like ending my life is the only thing I have motivation to do, and I have to actively do nothing to stop myself from self-harming or starting stupid fights online.

My mind keeps trying to come up with a plan and then I start arguing with myself about how I need to not have a plan and need to not kill myself.  Planning always trends towards poison or medicine overdose like when I was 8 (which was the first time I attempted suicide). I just want to go to sleep forever. I feel like I would be doing the entire world a favor… like somehow it would be selfless, instead of the truth, which is that it would be selfish, and hurt people I love dearly.

I don’t know how to stop the thoughts, when I know that everything about them is wrong.  I know that dying is a bad idea. I don’t know why it seems like a good idea when I know it’s not.  I’m not sure what it is about life that I’m running from.  I would hate to think that without “orders” or a “life plan” that I default to suicide. I know that I long for structure, but death doesn’t give you that.

I know that just by having the thoughts and acknowledging them, I hurt the people that I love and who care about me, and I’m genuinely, deeply sorry about that. I feel so trapped in this cycle and so stupid for feeling this way – so foolish and ungrateful and alone.  I hate knowing that I’ve been here multiple times before and not knowing how to stop it anyway.  I feel like I never learn anything truly useful from therapy.

Maybe it is just obsession… but it feels dangerous and delusional today. Hell, today, I wouldn’t say no to institutional incarceration.  I’d make new friends and have a reason to get dressed every day, though I’d miss my husband.  That’s today’s level of fucked-uped-ness.  But the fact that I know that the answer is not death and that I can keep myself from hurting myself means that I do not need a rescue wagon.

I just need to make it to Thursday night and another fine opportunity to talk with a therapist… for whatever that’s worth.

Today’s game is “life” and I win by not dying. So far, I’m playing the game ok. My self-care chart has a lot of checkmarks on it.

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