I’ve been doing rather well in recent months, overall. Better, if still imperfect, sleep. At least some work most days. Substantially more exercise (still not enough but improved). Generally upbeat and stable mood. It’s been encouraging to feel that much better for weeks and weeks at a time.
And now, for whatever reason, I’ve taken a bit of a nose dive.
My husband and I had even talked about the possibility a while ago. “It’s likely this won’t be entirely straightforward… I might have days that are hard again… but it’s going the right direction, so I’ll not feel as hopeless.”
Well, that’s both right and wrong, of course. It’s not straightforward, and I’m having some hard days, that part is right. But thinking I would not feel as hopeless, that part was wrong.
I feel as hopeless as ever.
I mean, in my head, I’m able to tell myself that the trajectory is upward, that I have more skills now, that I know it’s possible to feel better, all that useful knowledge. However, those positive thoughts don’t make a dent on my bleak emotional landscape. There, everything is barren and cold and spiky and hopeless, and I’m very, very alone.
I want to scream and throw things but since I’m the well-behaved type, I instead spent the day in bed, hating myself. I was also hating E because she doesn’t understand and doesn’t care (probably not true, but feels true, today) and because she can’t fix it. I don’t want to reach to friends because I’m miserable and boring and depressed and who wants a friend like that? I guess I’m afraid I’ll frighten them off and then not have any friends left later, when I feel better.
It feels like someone peeled back the skin from my arms, the cover from my heart, leaving them raw and exposed, nerves standing on end, silently screeching. But in fact no one did that, and I’m fine. It’s confusing to be fine and so very not-fine at the same time.
May this suffering be short. May all your sufferings be short. May we find peace and connection and hope.