. . .

I told hubby last night how I was feeling. How he and the boy are the only reasons I haven't killed myself. How I'm so fucking tired. How it's tiring and draining and just fucking stupid that I have to try so hard and struggle so much to be okay. Just to be okay. And most of the time? I'm not even okay. I told him how I don't know what to do anymore because I've done everything. Meds (23 different ones), traditional therapy, DBT, equine therapy, Al-Anon, different psychiatrists, referrals to experts, hospitalizations, time off from work, volunteer work (which I enjoy), still working with horses, ECT, karate, and now my butt is back in the gym. (Oh, and I've tried going the spiritual route. I have my own belief system. Reading the Bible annoys me. Going to church pisses me off. I have no desire to learn about religion.)

I'm sick of feeling how I do. I'm sick of feeling hopeless and helpless and like everything is pointless. I'm tired of constantly wanting to cut, of constantly thinking about suicide (against my will - I do everything I can to push those thoughts from my mind). I'm tired of feeling like a burden to my family.

I'm just really fucking tired. I just want to be okay without struggling so much. I want to enjoy life and my family.