I have an urge to run. From it all. My anxiety and depression are sky high again. Over and over again. In my last post I mentioned that I was due to bring all my meds to an appointment this morning. I didn’t feel I could keep myself safe from overdosing. I eventually told my husband, and we decided I should call my psych. I spoke to him last night, and he messaged me later. He was adamant that I not have possession of my meds. It’s obvious. I felt stupid for calling, but his message later put my mind at ease. He affirmed that it was crucial to keep the lines of communication open, so he knows on an ongoing basis where my head is at.

The internal turmoil feels constant at the moment. That I’m always on edge. Ready to tip over. To break. Shatter into a million pieces. It would be welcome at this point. My five-year old daughter told me this morning that I looked like a real mom. That I didn’t look fat. That I was wearing nice clothes. I was wearing jeans, a top, a cardigan and boots. Not sweats, a man’s t-shirt, a gym shoes. It was a compliment. She is five. She loves me. I still became happy and sad. How cute is my daughter? How lovely is she being towards me? How much do I suck that I can’t dress like a normal woman on a daily basis? Am I lazy? Value myself so little? Feel so disgusting? Just don’t know how to dress? Such small things bring such huge reactions these days.

I had to call my mom just now. I felt like I would explode. Would actually run. Would bolt. It is 08:30 and I had already called my husband. Mom was next. What happens when I run out of people? Is that when I drink and cut? Do I call Dr. D. again? I suppose I do. Do I get dragged into the hospital then? Can I face that? What is the alternative though? Risk staying on the outside where alcól agus sceana abound? Once again… I’m skating along the fine line of pulling the ejection cord too soon, and too late. Better safe than sorry, yes, but God being in jail sucks. And honestly the alternative sounds quite nice right now.

I’m 45 minutes away from my appointment with the Social Security Administration for Long Term Disability for my depression. I’m not nervous. If they don’t approve all the better. I get to keep my private LTD until the end of the year, including my excellent Health Insurance. Who the fuck wants public health insurance. Bye bye Dr. D. If I do get it so be it. I’m just going to go and answer everything truthfully. Yes. I am a nut job. No – I’m not planning to kill myself this instant. Yes. There is no way I could hold down a job right now. No. I’m not faking it. Look at my scars, and my hospitalizations. Yes. I promise they weren’t just for the craic. Although there was some craic involved. When will I be able to work? Dr. D thinks 6-12 months. Me. No fucking clue. How about never Mr. Powers? How about now? I have started looking. Not with the intention of taking a job should an offer be extended. Just for interview practice at this point. The one thing I hate about these things, is we all know that there are right and wrong answers, even though they always say there is no wrong answer!

I better head. I’ve a not-quiz to go to. And then a try not to drink\cut\pill thing to deal with for the next ten days (life) thing to do. Peace out!

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