lurker's rantings

Embarassment is a constant companion.  I'm embarassed every time I open up.  Embarassed about my therapy sessions, about chats with friends here.   That I can't seem to get it together enough to clean.  Or eat. Or get out of bed. That I'm writing this right now.

This is all my fault.  If I were better, then I could forgive myself.  I could change, I could believe what I'm supposed to.  I see the people here that have found some measure of peace, and I know they have something I don't.

In this between time, before the suicidal ideation comes back, I am empty and apart.  People that know me will get tired of this at some point.  I cannot continue to lean on people and be open and expect unending support.  Sooner or later everyone notices that they have gotten better and I'm in the same place, or worse than I was before.  So speaking brings embarassment.  This post will take up more brain space than anything of so little consequence should.

If I could only shut my mouth.  Or change.

I am feeling very much like a failed experiment right now.  All the pills, years of therapy.  It's still the same.  Actually, it's worse.  I've lost the ability to do so much.

I hate this stupid body.  It forces me to eat and it keeps running even though I want it to stop.  I have no say in this.

Yesterday I told them they should be more scared than I think they are... I believe the words sailed past them.  I don't think I was heard.

I'm sorry that my stinking mental illness has scared more people.  I'm sorry if I made things uncomfortable.  I should know by now that it's best to keep your mouth shut. Silence is a skill I've never mastered.  I have to say the awful things in my head.

This medicine is hard... It makes things more distant.  Cold logic and distance have pushed me to my limits.  I am capable of anything when the cold takes over.  I know I should call my doctor and tell him this bit of info.  Don't think I will.  I am going to take this 3x a day every day until the day he notices and makes me stop.  This med could fix me, just not how the doc planned.

I am sorry for being so quick to trigger.  I am sorry if I've hurt anyone.

I have to pull myself out of this... I'm scaring my friends and myself.  Never been good at getting out of this place.  I need help that isn't coming.

I should never get excited about medicine.  I should know by now that it will stop working if it provides any benefit.  I'll keep taking it, hoping it will work again, but instead I'll just have the side effects left.

A week free of suicidal thought.  It's more than I ever thought I'd get.  Then the slide begins.  Down each day, a little more each day.  Then one day, the slide stops and it's a crash landing in the pit.  I'm used to it.  If there is anything even resembling a real me, than this is it.  The dark thoughts, the unreality of it all.

I want to isolate, to get away from everyone, everything.  I can't even go to a hospital... it would bankrupt me.

My shrink is worried.  I am worried.  But I won't tell anyone, because nobody can help.

It doesn't get better.  It's not a permanant solution to a temporary problem.  It's a permanant solution to a life-long problem.  How can they know?

Even you guys don't know.  Pretend to know me, to like me.  I'll pretend that I believe you.