I am tired. I am hungry, but I don’t want to eat – even though I know I need to eat. I feel like throwing up, but I never actually throw anything up. I want to cry. I want to stay in bed all day, but I know I will be miserable if I do. I hate myself. I hate myself for being unproductive, even though I know I shouldn’t be, even though I know I need to be kinder to myself, even though I know it’s okay to take time off.
I am not me, but at the same time, I know this is me.
This episode has been going for a week now, and I don’t see any kind of end in sight. There was no big trigger – I just woke up in the middle of the night with horrible ideations and cried and nearly had a panic attack. And since then, I’ve just been flat. I have no energy and even the smallest of things seems way too overwhelming. I slept so much on the weekend that I gave myself a headache.
For me, these kinds of episodes are the worst, because I like to be busy. I like to *do* things. I hate that there’s nothing I can really do other than just wait it out, and to remind myself to eat and to get out of bed and to get dressed and to go outside and to see other people.
I am stuck in my own head. I can’t think straight. I’m just trying desperately to make it through each hour, each day. Time feels too fast and too slow, all at the same time.
I have the best friends, I have the best support anyone could ask for, I’m seeing a psychologist. But I hate that I’m burdening them with all of my ranting and my problems, especially when I know there’s nothing they can really do for me except listen. I don’t want to be one of those people who continually feels sorry for themselves, but sometimes I can’t help it – and I hate myself for it. I am still tired, my brain still refuses to work the way I want it to, the way I need it to.
I don’t know what the point of this post is. I guess I just needed somewhere to dump my thoughts? I don’t want to say I’m okay, because I’m not, really, but I have to trust that I will be, eventually.
I am just so tired.