My energy is scattered around, and I don’t even know how I’m feeling. Or I’m feeling everything at the same time.
I’m doing well, I’ll think. Though I woke up Tuesday morning shaken by nightmares and with the odd tingly sensation I often get when triggered, I settled myself down. I spent a quiet day on Tuesday. I cooked healthy food and took it easy. The tingling stopped by early afternoon.
Then I’ll think, no, I’m a mess. Those repetitive thoughts are back again: I’m so bad. I’m a terrible person. I have no value. I am not working any more, so I can add I don’t contribute anything to this world and our lives are going to fall apart without my income and I’ll never be up to working again. But wait, that is catastrophic thinking, and I don’t have any evidence that it’s true.
I jump ahead to another cluster of thoughts, I don’t really need E anymore. It’s been years, literally. I know everything she has to teach me. I can just use the skills and strategies by myself. Going to therapy is a waste of time and money. I have time now, but no money. I should take a therapy break, keep the money in the bank, and see if I can manage on my own.
She’s sick of me anyway, I think. (Ah, so is that the root of it?) We’ve never really recovered from our rupture in July. I know she doesn’t like me anymore, and if I can’t be sure of her positive feelings, how can I feel safe? And a little while later, I’ll remember how grateful I am to her and how much effort she has made to reassure me.
I’m going to go off my medications, I decide. That’s what I really need to do. I already weaned myself off clonazepam this summer and honestly, I don’t notice any difference. I’d like to get rid of the Effexor. I’m wondering now why I agreed to start taking it in the first place. I told S that I didn’t like it from my trial earlier. She was pushy about taking it and waiting out the side effects I experienced. The initial side effects are long gone, but it’s common to gain weight on it, and I have. It’s common to have a strong reaction to coming off it, and I have noticed that when I occasionally miss a dose. What’s really influencing me now, however, is the realization that all my suicidal thinking started after, not before, I was taking the Effexor. Why am I taking it anyway? Even if it’s not the cause of suicidal thinking, it doesn’t seem like much help. Do I even believe in psychiatric meds anymore?
I’m doing better than I was when I was working, I’ll think for a while. The evidence for that claim is that I have started cooking again and gardening, things I used to do but which fell away when I was working all the time. This must signal a return to my old self, my real self. And yet I can’t rouse myself to get my laundry done. Functioning and not functioning at the same time.
I wish I would just die and get it over with, I think tonight. It’s all so tiring, and I’m never better more than a few days at a time. There’s just no point. But when I see others write that, I tell them it is just depression talking, that it is bad but the worst will pass, and that there’s something ahead for them that they can’t imagine right now, something worth living for. I have to tell myself the same thing.
Is it even possible to feel all of these things in one day? But I did, I do. I guess the more clear-sighted part of me would say that tonight is probably not a good time to make any major decisions.