18 August 2006


I've recently reached a crushing new low, where every move I make I wonder if I have my DNR in my purse, and think, maybe I should make extras for the car and for work. The antidepressants I've been taking for 4 years now - I take the highest allowable doseage. It's either time for a new one, or time to up the doseage to strange new heights. I can't see my psychologist about it until October though, because I won't have the money until then. Or money for tranquilizers. Only money for the antidepressants and maybe food but those are the only "extras" I can afford. I don't want to talk about the things on my mind, but I feel like I have to because if I don't, I'll wind up as one of those ones that no one ever suspected anything was awry.

I can't keep saying "I'm okay," because I'm not. Lately I've taken to saying, "not good, not bad." And still I suppose I'm not bad, but I'm definitely not good. Not good at all. Not good in that a fiery spark of jealous rage flashes through me every time I read a pregnant woman's blog about being pregnant. Not good in that I lay in the bath and contemplate if I am the type to slit my wrists, and if so, would I shave my legs first and also would I go up the block or across the street,
and would there be hesitation marks? Or would I just do it my way and swallow that bottle of prescription painkiller I have, one at a time, until the whole bottle was gone? Not good in that yesterday I found the log of my IM's with Daddy, and I preserved them all in the blog of letters I'm writing to him, but had to do a little formatting, and as I was reading through them, it was like he was still here, and when I was done, he was gone again, and I don't want to live in a world my dad's not in. Not good in that I only get out of bed and come to work because it's something to do and it's routine. Not good in that I wondered of the possibilities of a semi losing control on the Beltway, flipping onto my car and exploding when I'm on my way home from Virginia on Sunday. Not good in that I have contemplated the reactions of my friends and loved ones, each by each, to the news of my death, and have accepted that they will be upset, but they will be able to get over it. I do not matter enough to anyone in this world to emotionally cripple them with my death.

Not good in that I have moved from I can't be assed to I really do not care in a matter of days (although to be honest, I at do not care when I claimed I couldn't be assed). Not good in that I can't see a future for myself, at all. I can't see 20 years from now, 10 years from now, 5 years from now. I can't see, imagine or feel anything but right this moment and the next may never come. And right this moment all I am living for is seeing Aiden, and watching him crawl to me, and snuggling and laughing. And I know next time that it will be seeing him stand, then seeing him take his first steps, then hearing him say my name. All the power of my lifeforce is contained in the body of one small, amazing, beautiful baby. Possibly the only thing in this world I love wholly and truly and with a fire I can not describe. Sometimes love can get you through. Sometimes it ain't enough. For now, it will have to be enough.

This isn't a cry for help. I've disable comments because I don't ... I don't want other peoples' words right now. This is something I need to work through by myself and on my own and maybe with a therapist or counselor, and I've got the number of one stuck to my monitor and I look at it every day and think, Jesus, but what do I say to her? I have to write all of this down because it's the people who don't talk about it that do it and I don't think I'm ready. I hope I'll never be ready, but there's something holding me to this world, to this life, to this plane of existence, and I'll heed my gut instinct, and write what I need to write, and not be one of those who never said a word.