I tried this morning. I really did. I got up early, had breakfast and coffee, got ready . . . I even put on makeup and real clothes (as opposed to just gym attire). I went downstairs to my happy place (my studio) to draw and paint. I was even able to get 2 sketches done before lunch and ink one of them after lunch. I did a load of laundry and put it away.
I tried.
So why then am I feeling so crappy? Why am I still so empty and depressed, feeling close to tears almost constantly? Why?
The obvious answer, of course, is that I'm bipolar and I'm in a depressive episode. There's no doubt about that.
I guess I was just hoping some positive self care would tip me over into the feeling good category.
But I guess I'm not so lucky.
In other news, I work tomorrow and I'm worried about it. I was supposed to work yesterday and I was called off - for which I'm thankful of. I've been feeling even worse at work. Having a hard time coping and wanting to cut. I've been withdrawing at work and I think people are starting to notice. All I want to do is hide. Sleep. Cut. Three things I can't do at work.
I'll be fine though. I'm tough.
I don't see my therapist for 2 weeks. Two weeks! That seems so long. So far away. I'll make it though, and have some artwork to show him.
Wednesday, April 29, 2020
Monday, April 27, 2020
Monday 4/27/20 Therapy and Work
This is one of those times where I want to write, need to write, but I don't know what to say. My brain is completely jumbled right now - it's a mess. So many thoughts. Most of them don't even make any sense. But I'm going to try and write a coherent post.
I had therapy today. Actually, I just got home from therapy. Almost the entire session centered on my depression and anxiety. Mostly my depression though. I've been getting progressively more and more depressed. More and more empty. More and more lost. I focused on Saturday as an example.
I worked Saturday. When I got up that morning to shower I could just feel it was going to be a difficult day. I already felt terribly down and empty. I tried talking up the day, knowing there were only 2 inductions, it's a Saturday - it shouldn't be busy, it'll be a good day!
I almost had myself convinced.
I went out to my truck to leave for work and there was a light layer of frost on my windshield. I almost lost it. My eyes welled up with tears and I nearly sat down in the driveway and cried. Over frost. Instead, I sucked it up, scraped my windshield and drove to work. Little did I know that would be my theme of the day.
I started off the day with a c-section - not how I like to start off my mornings, but hey, it is what it is. I felt that familiar feeling of needing to cry and shook it off. I did the c-section, admit, and charted, the whole time feeling like I was going to lose it. Spoiler alert - I didn't.
I had lunch and did another delivery when I felt something else, something different. The need to cut. When I feel empty and devoid of real feelings I get the desire to cut. Because when I cut I can at least feel something - even if that something is pain. It gives me a fleeting sense of belonging almost. I don't know how to describe it. I wanted to cut, badly.
So I texted my hubby and let him know what was going on. He talked with me for a bit and suggested I draw on myself, particularly butterflies (because of the Butterfly Project - a movement for those who self harm to draw butterflies on themselves instead of cutting). I had heard of it before but never put much clout into it.
Well, I tried it. And it helped. Briefly. But briefly was all I needed in the moment to keep from cutting. I ended up with four butterflies on my arm. Now, I still wanted to cut, I was just able to not do it. So I'll count that as a win.
The day went on and I continued to feel empty and hopeless and depressed. I put on a facade for those around me, which was difficult to do. But I did it anyway. By the time I left work I was exhausted. Not because it was busy - I only did 3 deliveries - but because of my flailing mental health.
Feeling like I'm going to constantly break down has been my MO as of late. I feel like this every day, coupled with the emptiness, hopelessness, and exhaustion. In therapy we discussed coping mechanisms and what I've done that has and hasn't helped. The only thing I can do is power through - it's all I know how to do.
Today I'll be helping my hubby build a shed. Not what I want to do today but it needs to be done. And it'll give me time with him and time out in the sun doing manual labor and that's good for the soul, right? At least that's what I'm telling myself. In all honestly I'd like to go back to bed.
I had therapy today. Actually, I just got home from therapy. Almost the entire session centered on my depression and anxiety. Mostly my depression though. I've been getting progressively more and more depressed. More and more empty. More and more lost. I focused on Saturday as an example.
I worked Saturday. When I got up that morning to shower I could just feel it was going to be a difficult day. I already felt terribly down and empty. I tried talking up the day, knowing there were only 2 inductions, it's a Saturday - it shouldn't be busy, it'll be a good day!
I almost had myself convinced.
I went out to my truck to leave for work and there was a light layer of frost on my windshield. I almost lost it. My eyes welled up with tears and I nearly sat down in the driveway and cried. Over frost. Instead, I sucked it up, scraped my windshield and drove to work. Little did I know that would be my theme of the day.
I started off the day with a c-section - not how I like to start off my mornings, but hey, it is what it is. I felt that familiar feeling of needing to cry and shook it off. I did the c-section, admit, and charted, the whole time feeling like I was going to lose it. Spoiler alert - I didn't.
I had lunch and did another delivery when I felt something else, something different. The need to cut. When I feel empty and devoid of real feelings I get the desire to cut. Because when I cut I can at least feel something - even if that something is pain. It gives me a fleeting sense of belonging almost. I don't know how to describe it. I wanted to cut, badly.
So I texted my hubby and let him know what was going on. He talked with me for a bit and suggested I draw on myself, particularly butterflies (because of the Butterfly Project - a movement for those who self harm to draw butterflies on themselves instead of cutting). I had heard of it before but never put much clout into it.
Well, I tried it. And it helped. Briefly. But briefly was all I needed in the moment to keep from cutting. I ended up with four butterflies on my arm. Now, I still wanted to cut, I was just able to not do it. So I'll count that as a win.
The day went on and I continued to feel empty and hopeless and depressed. I put on a facade for those around me, which was difficult to do. But I did it anyway. By the time I left work I was exhausted. Not because it was busy - I only did 3 deliveries - but because of my flailing mental health.
Feeling like I'm going to constantly break down has been my MO as of late. I feel like this every day, coupled with the emptiness, hopelessness, and exhaustion. In therapy we discussed coping mechanisms and what I've done that has and hasn't helped. The only thing I can do is power through - it's all I know how to do.
Today I'll be helping my hubby build a shed. Not what I want to do today but it needs to be done. And it'll give me time with him and time out in the sun doing manual labor and that's good for the soul, right? At least that's what I'm telling myself. In all honestly I'd like to go back to bed.
Tuesday, April 21, 2020
Tuesday 4/21/20 Why can't I cry?
I'm not really sure why I'm writing. I feel like I need to. I feel trapped. I feel depressed. I feel like I need to cry but I can't. I'm so empty and there's no strong emotion behind the need . . . so nothing comes. Even though I feel like I'll break down any moment.
I truly hate feeling like this. I'm stuck in this no man's land. This dark closet of no emotion. But that's not entirely true, is it? Because there is emotion. There's guilt, shame, hopelessness, worthlessness, and despair. Those are my bedfellows now.
So why can't I cry?
I keep thinking I would feel better after I cry. I cried yesterday, during therapy and then in the evening when I was trying to read. I felt so drained afterwards. But it was a release. I need that release now. But alas, I'm dry.
I also hate being so negative. But it's all I have right now.
Let's change up the pace.
I shaved my legs today - it's been over a week. Nice and smooth. I did laundry, I did two paintings, I read. I watched some uplifting Ted talks and browsed Pinterest while listening to good music. And now, I'm writing because I felt the need. It's funny how I've been so compelled to write recently. When I'm stable and happy I don't write nearly as much, if at all, truthfully. I find that strange. I need to get in the habit of writing when I'm feeling good. After all, my book can't be all doom and gloom, right?
I truly hate feeling like this. I'm stuck in this no man's land. This dark closet of no emotion. But that's not entirely true, is it? Because there is emotion. There's guilt, shame, hopelessness, worthlessness, and despair. Those are my bedfellows now.
So why can't I cry?
I keep thinking I would feel better after I cry. I cried yesterday, during therapy and then in the evening when I was trying to read. I felt so drained afterwards. But it was a release. I need that release now. But alas, I'm dry.
I also hate being so negative. But it's all I have right now.
Let's change up the pace.
I shaved my legs today - it's been over a week. Nice and smooth. I did laundry, I did two paintings, I read. I watched some uplifting Ted talks and browsed Pinterest while listening to good music. And now, I'm writing because I felt the need. It's funny how I've been so compelled to write recently. When I'm stable and happy I don't write nearly as much, if at all, truthfully. I find that strange. I need to get in the habit of writing when I'm feeling good. After all, my book can't be all doom and gloom, right?
Monday, April 20, 2020
Monday 4/20/20 Therapy
I just finished therapy via telemedicine (we're still in quarantine due to corona virus). This was a tough one. I started by showing M my latest vent drawing and reading him my last blog post. Reading that blog post was actually difficult and I started to tear up.
And it left M speechless.
He stared at me, a very somber look on his face, and asked if I needed to go to the hospital. No, no I do not. Are you sure, he asked. Yes, I'm sure. Even just for respite? I told him I would rather be with my hubby and son. He nodded and said okay.
I told him about how empty I've been feeling, how devoid of feeling, how bad. I started crying. I didn't think I would, but I did. I didn't lose it, I didn't sob. Just sort of silently cried. Just for a moment or two. It felt good and it felt awful. Necessary.
We talked at length about my lack of emotion and ways to counteract it. We picked objects and ascribed feeling and meaning to them, hoping that by doing this I would feel something too. We started with the wedding photos and family photos in my bedroom. Photos that should mean something to me. Right now, however, I get no feeling from them. I can identify feelings I should have . . . but I don't feel them.
We did this with several more objects, assigning feelings and meaning to them, and each time I couldn't actually feel what I was "supposed" to. So my homework is to do this daily throughout the week so that maybe, hopefully, I'll start to feel.
Being empty, not feeling, is horrible. And difficult. It's hard to interact with people when you aren't sure what you should be feeling. Luckily for me I've been doing this my whole life. Hiding my depression behind a well crafted facade. Now I hide my lack of feeling. It's not easy, but I can do it.
I work Thursday and Saturday this week, both days in trans. I'm wondering how I'll do. When I get overwhelmed my anger and anxiety has been surfacing. I'm hoping for calm days. Easy days. Days where I don't have to wear my mask so much. Because wearing a mask, keeping up my facade, is tiring.
And I'm already tired.
And it left M speechless.
He stared at me, a very somber look on his face, and asked if I needed to go to the hospital. No, no I do not. Are you sure, he asked. Yes, I'm sure. Even just for respite? I told him I would rather be with my hubby and son. He nodded and said okay.
I told him about how empty I've been feeling, how devoid of feeling, how bad. I started crying. I didn't think I would, but I did. I didn't lose it, I didn't sob. Just sort of silently cried. Just for a moment or two. It felt good and it felt awful. Necessary.
We talked at length about my lack of emotion and ways to counteract it. We picked objects and ascribed feeling and meaning to them, hoping that by doing this I would feel something too. We started with the wedding photos and family photos in my bedroom. Photos that should mean something to me. Right now, however, I get no feeling from them. I can identify feelings I should have . . . but I don't feel them.
We did this with several more objects, assigning feelings and meaning to them, and each time I couldn't actually feel what I was "supposed" to. So my homework is to do this daily throughout the week so that maybe, hopefully, I'll start to feel.
Being empty, not feeling, is horrible. And difficult. It's hard to interact with people when you aren't sure what you should be feeling. Luckily for me I've been doing this my whole life. Hiding my depression behind a well crafted facade. Now I hide my lack of feeling. It's not easy, but I can do it.
I work Thursday and Saturday this week, both days in trans. I'm wondering how I'll do. When I get overwhelmed my anger and anxiety has been surfacing. I'm hoping for calm days. Easy days. Days where I don't have to wear my mask so much. Because wearing a mask, keeping up my facade, is tiring.
And I'm already tired.
Saturday, April 18, 2020
Saturday 4/18/20 Am I Enough
I just kinda feel compelled to write right now. I'm not sure why. Maybe because I've been pouring over old blog posts looking for fodder for my book. Yes, I'm working on writing a book. I actually started it several years ago and didn't get very far with it. Well, I'm revisiting it with some fresh ideas and hoping to actually get it fleshed out. So yeah - I've been working on it for 4 hours now. Go me!
But I don't think that's what I really wanted to write about. No, I think not.
What is it then?
This horrible feeling of emptiness I can't seem to shake. That's what I want to write about. See, I can't seem to get rid of it. I feel so empty right now. I'm not really feeling anything. No good, not even anything really bad. Though when I do feel, it tends to be bad. I'm just existing. Barely. Everything around me is so thick and grey and oppressing. It's sludge. There's no color, no life.
I'm nothing.
I'm stuck.
I don't like feeling like this. This apathy. This anhedonia. Things that I enjoy? Like reading and painting? I don't enjoy anymore. I force myself to try . . . most often leading to failure which makes me feel worse.
I have therapy on Monday morning and I'm a little bit worried. See, I'm depressed, but am I depressed enough? And what, exactly, do I mean by that? See, people don't seem to care unless you're depressed enough. Suicidal enough. Manic enough. Who says it's enough? Hell if I know, but it seems to be a common thread. I'm mainly flat, withdrawn, down, and empty. Is that enough? I'm not suicidal, I'm not breaking down all the time, I'm still able to work. So, am I enough?
I'm worried that during therapy I won't be able to carry enough weight of the conversation. Because my depression is all I have to talk about. And I'm not horrible. And I know what I'm supposed to be doing and I'm doing those things. All those coping mechanisms form CBT and DBT that I learned so long ago . . . I do all those things. What more am I going to learn in therapy on Monday? That's what worries me. That I'm not enough for therapy, even though it's always been helpful to me.
I don't know why I'm so worried about this. But it's tearing me up inside, which is stupid, I know. I can't help it though. I mean come on - I'm tearing up as I type this. How stupid is that?
I just know that I'm tired of feeling like this. I know I can feel so much better - I've been there. I just need to figure out how to get back there.
But I don't think that's what I really wanted to write about. No, I think not.
What is it then?
This horrible feeling of emptiness I can't seem to shake. That's what I want to write about. See, I can't seem to get rid of it. I feel so empty right now. I'm not really feeling anything. No good, not even anything really bad. Though when I do feel, it tends to be bad. I'm just existing. Barely. Everything around me is so thick and grey and oppressing. It's sludge. There's no color, no life.
I'm nothing.
I'm stuck.
I don't like feeling like this. This apathy. This anhedonia. Things that I enjoy? Like reading and painting? I don't enjoy anymore. I force myself to try . . . most often leading to failure which makes me feel worse.
I have therapy on Monday morning and I'm a little bit worried. See, I'm depressed, but am I depressed enough? And what, exactly, do I mean by that? See, people don't seem to care unless you're depressed enough. Suicidal enough. Manic enough. Who says it's enough? Hell if I know, but it seems to be a common thread. I'm mainly flat, withdrawn, down, and empty. Is that enough? I'm not suicidal, I'm not breaking down all the time, I'm still able to work. So, am I enough?
I'm worried that during therapy I won't be able to carry enough weight of the conversation. Because my depression is all I have to talk about. And I'm not horrible. And I know what I'm supposed to be doing and I'm doing those things. All those coping mechanisms form CBT and DBT that I learned so long ago . . . I do all those things. What more am I going to learn in therapy on Monday? That's what worries me. That I'm not enough for therapy, even though it's always been helpful to me.
I don't know why I'm so worried about this. But it's tearing me up inside, which is stupid, I know. I can't help it though. I mean come on - I'm tearing up as I type this. How stupid is that?
I just know that I'm tired of feeling like this. I know I can feel so much better - I've been there. I just need to figure out how to get back there.
Wednesday, April 15, 2020
Wednesday 4/15/20
Would you look at that - it hasn't been a week yet and I'm writing again. I'm having an overwhelming desire to write. But I don't know exactly what I'm going to write about. . .
I'm on the couch (as per usual), listening to both music on my phone and my son yelling at his friends through his headset. Delightful. Although wait - what's that? It seems he's being quiet for the time being.
For not feeling great I've gotten some things accomplished the past few days. Monday I did a sketchy type personal drawing of a woman crying; yesterday I painted five bookmarks - cute ones - and sold two of them; today I cleaned the kitchen, did laundry, and went to the post office. Stuff I got done that I honestly didn't think I'd accomplish. I'm proud of myself for that.
Especially because I seem to be frozen.
Frozen from doing things. For example, after I showered yesterday (a feat in itself), I had to lay down for an hour before I could go downstairs to my studio to paint. It was too overwhelming. I just couldn't do it. Ultimately I was able to get myself up and down there, but it was truly difficult.
I'm starting to feel as though things are pointless. Nothing really matters. It's all stupid. This is very bad thinking for me and is usually the first step to suicidal thoughts. I've been very active in countering this thinking with positive thoughts. But that's hard to do and it's surprisingly tiresome. You wouldn't think so, but it can be exhausting countering negative thoughts.
I'm trying to come up with things to do. Like making mother's day cards for my mom and mother-in-law. I know they would appreciate them which makes them not pointless, right? See, self? Things aren't as pointless as you think.
I'm hoping things like that will help. Painting and drawing - having a creative outlet - usually seems to help. What sucks is that I haven't had the motivation to do this. It's hard to even get out of bed and perform the basics of hygiene let alone be creative and act on it.
I'll get there at some point I suppose.
I'm on the couch (as per usual), listening to both music on my phone and my son yelling at his friends through his headset. Delightful. Although wait - what's that? It seems he's being quiet for the time being.
For not feeling great I've gotten some things accomplished the past few days. Monday I did a sketchy type personal drawing of a woman crying; yesterday I painted five bookmarks - cute ones - and sold two of them; today I cleaned the kitchen, did laundry, and went to the post office. Stuff I got done that I honestly didn't think I'd accomplish. I'm proud of myself for that.
Especially because I seem to be frozen.
Frozen from doing things. For example, after I showered yesterday (a feat in itself), I had to lay down for an hour before I could go downstairs to my studio to paint. It was too overwhelming. I just couldn't do it. Ultimately I was able to get myself up and down there, but it was truly difficult.
I'm starting to feel as though things are pointless. Nothing really matters. It's all stupid. This is very bad thinking for me and is usually the first step to suicidal thoughts. I've been very active in countering this thinking with positive thoughts. But that's hard to do and it's surprisingly tiresome. You wouldn't think so, but it can be exhausting countering negative thoughts.
I'm trying to come up with things to do. Like making mother's day cards for my mom and mother-in-law. I know they would appreciate them which makes them not pointless, right? See, self? Things aren't as pointless as you think.
I'm hoping things like that will help. Painting and drawing - having a creative outlet - usually seems to help. What sucks is that I haven't had the motivation to do this. It's hard to even get out of bed and perform the basics of hygiene let alone be creative and act on it.
I'll get there at some point I suppose.
Monday, April 13, 2020
Monday 4/13/20
I made a silent goal to myself to try and blog at least once a week. Well, this is my 5th weekly blog post! Go me!
Alright, enough gloating.
I'm sitting on the couch in my pajamas. It's 9:30 am. I probably won't get out of my pajamas today. Shower? Pshhh, no. Makeup? Do my hair? Definitely not. Lounging around in my jammies all day is the ticket.
I worked yesterday and I had a rough day. It wasn't a busy day, that wasn't it. I had a rough mental health day. Withdrawn, empty, flat. I had a hard time interacting with coworkers. I had a hard time keeping my head above water. I had a hard time existing.
No one knew it though. I kept it secret. I'm good at keeping secrets.
I remember walking down the hallway to the break room, feeling pretty low. I opened the door slowly, quietly. There was no one in there and my eyes welled with tears. I don't know if in that moment I needed someone to notice my pain and offer help? Maybe?
I wanted to cut. So badly I wanted to cut. Deep and wide and bleeding. I needed the physical pain to distract me from the mental anguish I was feeling. I didn't cut though. I didn't cut. That in itself is a huge victory.
In other news, I had a maintenance TMS treatment last Wednesday. I'm not feeling any positive effects from it yet. I'm hoping it just takes time. Just a little more time and I'll start to feel better. If not, I guess I'll have another in May. If that doesn't work then I don't know. Dr. M is always suggesting I try ECT again but I desperately don't want to do that. I have enough memory problems from that as it is, I don't need to compound the problem.
I still have no motivation for anything. Like, I want to paint and draw and read and work on my book . . . I just can't. I have no motivation, no drive. All I do is sleep to escape. That's no way to live.
No therapy this week. M and I decided to try 2 weeks instead. I wish I had therapy this week but I don't want to call M cause I don't want to be a burden. And I don't want it to just be me whining about how I'm feeling. Oh whoa is me, I'm depressed again. I don't want to be a burden on anyone which is why I've been keeping all of this a secret. Probably not my best idea. Oh well.
Maybe next week my post will be a bit brighter.
Alright, enough gloating.
I'm sitting on the couch in my pajamas. It's 9:30 am. I probably won't get out of my pajamas today. Shower? Pshhh, no. Makeup? Do my hair? Definitely not. Lounging around in my jammies all day is the ticket.
I worked yesterday and I had a rough day. It wasn't a busy day, that wasn't it. I had a rough mental health day. Withdrawn, empty, flat. I had a hard time interacting with coworkers. I had a hard time keeping my head above water. I had a hard time existing.
No one knew it though. I kept it secret. I'm good at keeping secrets.
I remember walking down the hallway to the break room, feeling pretty low. I opened the door slowly, quietly. There was no one in there and my eyes welled with tears. I don't know if in that moment I needed someone to notice my pain and offer help? Maybe?
I wanted to cut. So badly I wanted to cut. Deep and wide and bleeding. I needed the physical pain to distract me from the mental anguish I was feeling. I didn't cut though. I didn't cut. That in itself is a huge victory.
In other news, I had a maintenance TMS treatment last Wednesday. I'm not feeling any positive effects from it yet. I'm hoping it just takes time. Just a little more time and I'll start to feel better. If not, I guess I'll have another in May. If that doesn't work then I don't know. Dr. M is always suggesting I try ECT again but I desperately don't want to do that. I have enough memory problems from that as it is, I don't need to compound the problem.
I still have no motivation for anything. Like, I want to paint and draw and read and work on my book . . . I just can't. I have no motivation, no drive. All I do is sleep to escape. That's no way to live.
No therapy this week. M and I decided to try 2 weeks instead. I wish I had therapy this week but I don't want to call M cause I don't want to be a burden. And I don't want it to just be me whining about how I'm feeling. Oh whoa is me, I'm depressed again. I don't want to be a burden on anyone which is why I've been keeping all of this a secret. Probably not my best idea. Oh well.
Maybe next week my post will be a bit brighter.
Monday, April 6, 2020
Monday 4/6/20
I just finished my tele therapy session with M. Tele therapy, you ask? Face time on the computer basically. So yes, I just finished my session. Therapy is always helpful - seriously, always - but sometimes I don't quite say everything I mean to.
Like today.
See, I don't want to sound like a broken record. I don't want to sound stupid or naive. I don't want to be judged (although I know M would never judge me). And sometimes, sometimes I'm too scared to put myself out there.
I think all of these things were holding me back today. I couldn't speak up, I couldn't say what was truly on my mind.
And what was on my mind?
My depression. My depression was on my mind. I'm not "fully" depressed. I'm not suicidal. I'm functional. I can smile. I can even laugh. But I'm dead inside. I'm so empty. I'm hollow - there's nothing there. In a world full of color, everything is grey for me.
I feel as though everything is pointless. Everything is stupid - why do any of it?
I feel flat. I'm not feeling real emotions. I'm faking them for the sake of others. I can smile, though I'm not quick to do so. I can laugh, though it's mostly a facade. I can get angry, though it's short lived (that's a good thing I guess). My emotions are muted. It's as if they aren't even there. Even when I feel worse than empty I can't cry. There's not enough emotion behind it.
I feel trapped by this. I want to feel. I want my emotions. And I don't know how to get out of this. I don't know what to do.
I have TMS this Wednesday, the 8th. I'm hoping this helps. I had spoken to my psychiatrist a couple weeks ago and he had nothing to offer med wise. He brought up trying ECT again which I won't do. Especially when I have TMS as an option.
I've been so non-feeling that I've had the urge to cut again. Because if I'm feeling pain, at least it's something. I hate this about myself. I thought I was over this.
But this grey . . . it's unrelenting. It's all encompassing. And it's a pain in the ass. Truly.
Like today.
See, I don't want to sound like a broken record. I don't want to sound stupid or naive. I don't want to be judged (although I know M would never judge me). And sometimes, sometimes I'm too scared to put myself out there.
I think all of these things were holding me back today. I couldn't speak up, I couldn't say what was truly on my mind.
And what was on my mind?
My depression. My depression was on my mind. I'm not "fully" depressed. I'm not suicidal. I'm functional. I can smile. I can even laugh. But I'm dead inside. I'm so empty. I'm hollow - there's nothing there. In a world full of color, everything is grey for me.
I feel as though everything is pointless. Everything is stupid - why do any of it?
I feel flat. I'm not feeling real emotions. I'm faking them for the sake of others. I can smile, though I'm not quick to do so. I can laugh, though it's mostly a facade. I can get angry, though it's short lived (that's a good thing I guess). My emotions are muted. It's as if they aren't even there. Even when I feel worse than empty I can't cry. There's not enough emotion behind it.
I feel trapped by this. I want to feel. I want my emotions. And I don't know how to get out of this. I don't know what to do.
I have TMS this Wednesday, the 8th. I'm hoping this helps. I had spoken to my psychiatrist a couple weeks ago and he had nothing to offer med wise. He brought up trying ECT again which I won't do. Especially when I have TMS as an option.
I've been so non-feeling that I've had the urge to cut again. Because if I'm feeling pain, at least it's something. I hate this about myself. I thought I was over this.
But this grey . . . it's unrelenting. It's all encompassing. And it's a pain in the ass. Truly.
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