Want To Be Done

5.24.19 blog entry

So, I’m gonna be honest with you guys. I always remind others to reach out for help. Here I am now doing just that. I’m feeling overwhelmed and in pain.

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I feel like my work won’t be published… sort of a “why would that website I’m so interested in want to print what I have to say?” Or, “why would anyone want to buy any decoration I made?”

And I’m so fracking tired of hurting so much, everywhere. I mean seriously, all the physical pain is just eating away at me and causing me to miss out on life.

I feel like a fraud. As happens in life, there have been some unforeseen circumstances that are causing some financial struggles. If we don’t get a hold of it quickly, we will drown.

And I’m frustrated… no, furious… that I can’t help my family.

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I just want it over and done. I don’t want to be on this earth anymore.

Scurry Away, Black Dog, Fleas and All

Sometimes, well often if I’m being honest, I have trouble distinguishing between being tired due to autoimmune and chronic pain health issues VS being tired and not wanting to move or interact because I’m slipping into deep depression.

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What I have come up with so far is this. If I am just tired and sleepy and in need of catching up, I still find things to be interesting. I still want to feel better soon so that I can re-engage sooner. I still have creative ideas. I still care about how my friends and family are doing. I still care about my appearance.

When it is the darker and uglier thing, I am apathetic and I don’t care about things as much. I hardly even care about myself, if at all. I feel lonely and alone, which are, in fact, two different things. I feel ignored and tossed aside. I feel like none of my goals and dreams can come to fruition. I feel hopeless, and I know that The Black Dog has me cornered, snarling, looming larger and larger.

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It is then that those nagging, passive suicidal whispers move from the inaccessible and hidden depths of my mind to the front of it, full-on sc, with guns blazing.

Guns. Guns? Or maybe pills? Pills tonight? Or walking into a river with heavily weighed pockets, all in an effort for escape and relief.

I’ve been taught that there are passive suicidal thoughts, as well as active suicidal plans. I’ve learned this information and terminology from healthcare providers, books and friends who suffer from the same bully that is Bipolar.

I’ll say this – passive or active – suicidal ideation is an ever-present threat for me, a sort of co-morbid illness that tags along with my Bipolar, wherever he goes.

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I loathe them both and long for the day I’m free of them. Just gotta keep holding on and using all the coping strategies I’ve been taught.

That’s tiring, though. Oh, and look!

Now we’ve gone full circle, back to talking about being tired again.

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And does it really matter if I’m tired due to fibromyalgia or depression? For me, no. Because they both catapult me to the same place, and I’ve got to claw my way out every time.