Since I started keeping a journal documenting my feelings of anxiety and depression, I’ve begun recognizing my patterns.
love paper, old books, pretty patterns, and foreign magazines. I rescue broken books and posters from the garbage heap. And then they’re all just here and I can’t do anything with them. Tonight I have the urge to rip them all apart; keep the best parts; shuffle them around; and bind them back together, making something different.
It’s this souped up hyper feeling and all I can think about is tearing these books. It’s an itch you can’t scratch. Why can’t I get some obsessive urge to do something positive? Will I spend the next three days ripping up books to find myself surrounded by piles of paper?
Already I know this feeling will be followed by a round of anxiety and then exhausted depression. That part I’m afraid of. If I knew I would wind up with something; a great novel, a painting, or some break through research, I would plunge ahead, depression be damned.
Maybe just tonight under the cover of darkness I’ll free some pages from their old bindings. I’ll take my medicine and in the morning I’ll try to redirect myself in a positive direction.
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My paintbrushes are not kitty chew toys. Please stop taking them from the jar on my desk.
Please stop lying on my freshly painted work. I know “up” is your favorite place. But I put them “up” high so you wouldn’t get to them.
Though the paints are nontoxic, I don’t think you should drink the rinse water. Does it really taste that great?
When I went to answer the phone that was not permission for you to walk on my stamp pad and then across my desk.
When I woke up this morning and you were sleeping with your head on the pillow next to mine, I forgot all the annoying things you did yesterday.
(Feeling much better, finally starting to get myself back into balance. Thanks for your kindness and patience.)
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Shapeless lumps of teeth and flesh surround me, clawing and biting at my arms. Their talons are careful not to tear the green, Grecian gown I wear. Together we rise slowly from the pit.
A great flash of light.
I drop to a crouch, hugging my knees to my chest. The creatures ignite falling in columns of ash around me.
I wake to blazing lights cutting across the sky, punctuated by a barrage of thunder. The storm rages outside and I am sweat drenched in bed.
My sister asked if I was really depressed.
I started to explain and ended with a weak, yes. It’s like trying to explain clouds to the blind. They can’t understand. It’s not their fault. They wouldn’t know this side of me.
If I could paint the images in my head. The cavernous hall, filled with sights and words I cannot banish. I try to chase the ravens from my sills, but they return wanting more.
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Last night I made myself lie down and close my eyes.
These last few weeks I haven’t thought about sleep until the sun is coming up. I don’t want to stop to think, not even for sleep. Keep your mind busy.
Play another game.
Watch another show.
What’s on YouTube?
Read the news.
Who’s killing who?
Has Greece sunk beneath the sea of it’s debt yet.
Wait for exhaustion.
When the light starts to peek through the trees. I know I won’t have to think when I finally stop to sleep.
Instead, tonight I lay in the dark, my jaw stiff. Listening to my teeth grinding. I dreamed of a debate about an illness sweeping the world. We had the cure. It could be sprayed in the air and we would all be saved. But there was an insane deliberation about harming the environment. We could save everyone but did nothing instead.
I feel better today. I’ll exercise and shower. I’m going to get back to good someday soon. I hope I can find the right road.
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I woke up this morning, my head is pounding and all I can think is I’m going to die. I must have been clinching my jaws, neck and shoulders. I’ve been off my routine since I got back from seeing the ex. It’s hard to keep up this game – exercise, food, schedule, medication. Why is happiness so difficult?
I knew last night when I went to bed I was going to smother in my sleep. I was 100% positive and I went to sleep anyway. I’m going to be dead in the next few days, I can feel it.
There’s another bit of my mind that knows it isn’t true. “You’re off your meds. Just get back on your routine.” My face aches, my head is pounding and I just don’t do it.
Dead in days, dead in days. It keeps echoing in the silence. That chant and the whirring of the ceiling fan, it’s all I hear.
I’m off my routine. I know I should get up and start. Get up. NOW! GET UP! But I keep staring at the ceiling.
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He’s breathing on his own. Thank you for all of your prayers and good thoughts. It’s an amazing turn around. Just a few days ago the doctor was surprised he made it through the night and now he’s sitting up.
I’ve been racked with anxiety since I made the decision to come see him. I’ve been nauseous. Eating makes me sick and not eating makes me sick. We didn’t part on good terms. I still don’t know how his family feels about me. (I’m staying close to the hospital, so I’m able to check in early and late, missing most of my in-laws.)
He’s been married and divorce since I last saw him. What will I say? Thoughts kept rolling through my head. I love him, but I don’t LOVE, love him. I wouldn’t mind being friends, but it might be too late for that.
I checked with one of my nephews and he said I should come and seem him. I don’t want you to think I pushed myself on him without taking his feelings into consideration.
Some of his buddies were in the room when I entered. I barely recognized him. He looks old, perhaps the illness has taken its toll. He’s had some hair loss and what’s left is white. He’s gained a lot of weight, some of that’s probably fluid.
When we were in the middle of our divorce and everything was so ugly, I imagined seeing him again. This wasn’t far from my fantasy. “I’m still looking young and you are old. Was she worth it?” I would say. (Of course she would look old too.) He would fall to the floor and tell me how sorry he was and I wouldn’t care. I would reply with various snide comments. “Should have thought of that before you left me for your mother.” (She looks like his mother.)
So what did I choose to say? Something amazingly insightful? Perhaps even a little biting. No. I said, “Hey what’s up? I thought you were going to dance on my grave. You’ve got to get it together. I’m depending on you.”
He chuckled. His friends chuckled and then the conversation turned back to chasing women. The reason we split up in the first place.
The doctors have scheduled him for open heart surgery tomorrow. He’s still in intensive care, but I’m optimistic. Tomorrow I’ll see his family. But for now, I’m going to go gnaw on some crackers and sip Sprite.
Posted in anxiety, divorce, family, health, life, love, mental health | Tagged family, life, mental state | 24 Comments »
My ex collapsed recently. Just an update on his status. His fever is down to 99. His OT states are over 90. (They were 80.) His heart rate has come down, but is still beating to fast. His eyes are now tracking when people are speaking.
Not much, but still it is in the positive direction. Thanks to everyone for your support.
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