I am approaching the end of my line. The exhaustion overwhelms. Today I am brimful of scary high energy, the last twitters and jolts of a downed electric line, shooting out sparks before it burns itself out.
I should have gone to therapy last week. I lied to Robert to get out of it. Truth is, I was so annoyed by how much he talked about himself and his stories during our last session that I didn’t want to go back. I really like him and I know that we have had some sessions that have been helpful to me, but that last one definitely wasn’t.
I should have gone to therapy last week because I feel that the end is imminent. My dreams grow steadily more violent (towards myself) and I sleep less and less. I don’t think I am in control anymore. My new pcp doctor is fixated on my supposed bipolar diagnosis, prescribing me drugs that make me sob uncontrollably but do nothing to allay my constant, overwhelming fatigue. I have not received a call back from the psychiatrist to whom I was referred. Everything is affected by my exhaustion; driving my car, relationships with friends, work… I can’t focus on anything and my inability to accomplish even the smallest to-do list is incredibly discouraging. I’ve been needing to cut like crazy, but B will notice and it will hurt him.
Mom and B keep asking me why I won’t take Remeron just for a few nights, just to get some sleep, but I CAN’T because it would sacrifice my self-will. Remeron is a fat drug. I cannot even stomach the idea of taking one, even for a night. I don’t know why I haven’t destroyed the pills I have remaining.
I see the hospital growing closer. Either because I crash in my car or because I simply cannot find any strength to go on. The only motivator I have is that I want to stay out of the hospital. And yet, the hospital would provide sweet silence and loss of what little control I have remaining… this is a good thing. I wouldn’t have to think.
That, and my beloved B is the sweetest and best person on the planet and I cannot bear to pain him. I read this piece aloud to him last night and he said it sounded like suicide. I can’t do this to him
but
I can’t do this.
I feel my soul beating its wings hysterically, bruising my ribs and trying to tear me open, split me along my fault lines. I would let it if I knew how to relax. Deep breathing, meditation, open me, tear me, break me, I can, I can’t, I am expanding but I am lessening and I am in agony.