Try, Fail, Try, Fail, Try, Fail Ad Infinitum

A strange dynamic takes place on a regular basis in my therapy. I will sit across from Dr. X. and protest that I can't cook, eat well, clean, keep up, take care of myself etc. (which prior to the protest is the case)...and then either later that day or the next I end up doing the very thing I could not do earlier.

This happened last night. On Thursday I proclaimed an absolute inability to cook, eat well etc. Last night I had two friends over, made a beautiful salad of various types of lettuce and garden greens, mangoes, avocados, eggs and black beans. I cooked fresh corn; melted brie with roasted garlic and served it with a fresh baguette. I made raspberry vinaigrette salad dressing. Both the food and the process of cooking was enjoyable and seemed easy.

I believe my whining in therapy about the things I can't do rallies the fighter inside me to actually do that for which I confess a lack of motivation and ability.

I am a fighter, but I get tired of fighting to survive all the time. Last night I ate more vegetables than I have this entire month. Unfortunately, based on previous experience I probably won't manage to succeed like that again for a while.

Despite a sense of connectedness with my friends last night, this morning I feel morose, detached, and wish I weren't here. I walked the dog and most of the time I was somewhere else; some of the time visions of my hanging myself; separating my head from my body, ending my struggle forever washed through my head. I really wish I could either succeed at getting well, or get the courage to delete myself from this life. I can't seem to manage either.

All these experiences of trying so hard to pull myself out of the black pit that is my hell, and all the experiences of failing so miserably at doing so have led to my feeling an intense sense of learned helplessness. Giving up seems like the obvious next step.