All I want to do is lay down, hide under the covers and sleep. I don't want to do art, teach art, sing, write, shop, dress or even get out of bed. Everything I manage to do takes an enormous effort to do. Everything is annoying me. My dog keeps "talking" at me to go out all the time (even if I just took him outside not long ago), my husband, the staff at the Art Clubhouse...everything and everyone. I can't cook, or clean, do the dishes, shop, or do laundry. The house is a mess and my sister and two of my neices are coming tomorrow. All I want to do is sleep.
I've been crying off and on throughout the day, because I struggle so much with wanting so badly to be better. I want to be better. I try to help myself. I know I don't do enough; if I did all the things I was supposed to do I would be better. It is me that is stopping me from getting better.
For some reason I always run out of steam, or I seem to gain momentum in getting well and then I fall right back into the blackness I have been mired in for so long. I garner the hope, I make the effort. I try. I fail. It is getting more and more difficult to continue trying.
Dr. X. says it can always get better, there is always something we can do to help me, there is hope...but the longer I live with depression the more I am certain of my bleak future. I have tried so many medications that at this point I pretty much think none will help me more than a tiny bit. That is not enough.
My husband thinks I'm lazy. He repeatedly mentions how much I am sleeping and how little I have done, am doing, have been doing, around the house. It is as if he thinks I don't notice what a crappy housekeeper I am; as if he thinks I don't recognize I have a problem. He thinks he needs to tell me because obviously I am not noticing I am a shitty wife.
I do recognize. I do know I am not doing my fair share at home. I feel intensely guilty about this. I always had so much energy before I became depressed, even when I was depressed before this depression I managed to work, cook, clean etc. Now I can't even manage to eat properly, or go for a decent walk, or stay out of bed.
Today I was looking at my hoard of medications. Thinking about taking them, over and over. This afternoon I felt so mad at myself, so enraged by my inability to make myself change: I wanted to shoot myself, stab myself over and over; kill myself. I don't have a gun. I am afraid of the pain a knife would cause. I have no energy to kill myself: to plan, to execute the plan, to end it all. All I want to do is sleep.
I wish I could let go. I wish I could disappear. I wish I would die. I wish I had the resolve to do what I have wanted to do for years.
But I don't. So I stay stuck and tormented in this hell. This is what I have to look forward to...a life in hell. And when that ends I will probably end up in hell again because I didn't live my life the way I was supposed to. Ironic, fucking ironic!
Sing Yourself Into Breathing
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On a previous post, "Sheet Music" , I was extolling the value of singing
lessons. Harriet posted a comment about thinking about singing lessons to
help h...
14 years ago
5 comments:
HI Aqua,
We're definitely on the same page right now, I often think if I had been born this way, lived my whole life this way it wouldn't be half as bad because I wouldn't know what I was capable of and it wouldn't hurt so much. Having been at the top of my game and then being reduced to a nervous wreck is so unjust. Watching friends continue to succeed while I fall further behind only seems to fuel my illness.
It is hell, absolute living hell.
We are tormented to no end with these illnesses. What did we do to deserve this???
On some level I feel like all this is my fault. I always worried too much, was stressed out about things no one else stressed about. I have always felt like such a loser for not being able to "deal" with stress, for letting it stop me from succeeding in life. I feel like I used to be the life of the party dispite this stress, but it just completely overwhelms me now. My sister and neices are coming to visit this afternoon, the house is a disaster zone, the dog has to go to the vet, and all I want to do is go back to bed and hide.
I'm a little late here, but I just want to say I'm sorry you are feeling so badly. I hear the struggle in your words.
Hi from Australia
I suffered from schizoaffective disorder - schizophrenia and severe depression - for the last seven years.
Last year I was in hospital for four months and they put me on t he strongest medication they had. I was suddenly normal, thank God, and have now written some stuff and gone back to study.
I, too, spent many months in bed - did no housework, no cooking, no exercise etc.
I, too, tried to act 'normal' and convinced everyone but myself.
The things that helped me get through the tough times were - my faith in a loving God, loving friends and family and my cat.
I hope and pray you get better soon and you find people who understand what is going on for you.
Amber
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