Not as Sane as I Should be

A year and a bit ago when I left my husband I stopped taking all my pills. I felt wonderful. Free. I was on the right path for me.

Today as I laid on the couch writhing with fear, my anxiety breaching the walls that I have erected to keep it out, I wondered if that was a sensible thing to do.

When last I saw my doctor about my depression he warned me that I might need to be on pills forever. I was devastated. Really? Pills forever? I just could not fathom that. Nor did I want to. Depression is a stigma all by itself, depression and medication and everyone who knows covertly looks at you, they take your heartbeat. They listen to how you speak and wonder if you are not a little coo-coo. Been there. Done that. Don’t want to go back. But today, today was the day that I wondered, that I thought about it.

I was off for a total of three days. Three days that I was not in contact with my store. And this morning, I huddled on my couch in fear. I must have fucked up something so huge that when I got to work today I was done. I texted my second begging for reassurance. I received it like .50 minutes before I had to go to work.

I am monitoring my blood pressure. It is high before and after work. Right on the ball at night. I am every where, the reason why I think that I need to start retaking medication is so I can calm down. Thankfully my second totally lives the same life as me. She lives with depression and anxiety. She gets me when I text and say what did I fuck up, did you fix it and is it okay to come into work today?

I know this is all over the place, I know what I have to do. First, I need to restart taking my meds. This will help with my anxiety. If there is a second and third I am not aware of it. Disjointed writing disjointed needs. I must make a dr appt

The Face Depression Wears

So today is Let’s talk about Mental Illness day.

While I appreciate the notion every day is a day to discuss Mental Illness.

I have been diagnosed with depression, anxiety, major depression, ptsd, bi-polar 2 and holy fuck I am just cray cray.

I struggle sometimes daily but I can go months without feeling anything but good.

Than come those days where I sob into my pillow because everyone hates me and despite my talent I am not writing. I struggle with feeling like I am the world’s worst mother. That I am not a good friend, a good girl friend, a good daughter or sister. I writhe with disgust at my inability to not cope without having a drink. I look in the mirror and cannot stand the image that looks back at me. I have my ups and by god I have my downs. I cry and I bitch and I huddle beneath the blankets because there I find comfort. There I find security.

This is the face that depression wears in my life.