When the well runs dry

Tonight I did something that I have not done since I was a little girl. I got on my knees, closed my eyes and I spoke to whoever is out there in the universe. I was most likely just talking to myself, but I really needed to let it all out.

I don’t even know if I should call it “talking to God” because I can’t say that I am religious at all. I was raised Christian, but I have spent most of my childhood – and a giant portion of my adult life so far – doubting the entire existence of “God”. Without turning this into a 5 page essay about my lack of believing/struggles with religion, I just know that tonight I got down on my knees and I talked. I had to get it out.

Last week Thursday I received some incredibly devastating news, and it has had me in shambles ever since. I have barely left the house in days. I spent most if it in bed. If it weren’t for the dogs I would truly never ever leave the house, ever. I have been having non stop anxiety attacks, sleeping a total of 2 hours a day. I am exhausted, so extremely exhausted. And scared.

I have never in my life been truly afraid of anything, but here I am, terrified. You’re probably wondering what this devastating news is to begin with, and honestly, I am still debating whether to share it or not. So far I have only told a few people, and they don’t even know the entire story. What it comes down to is that there is a very big chance that I will soon become homeless. Lose my house. My roof. The house that I grew up in.

I pay my rent on time, so that’s not it. I keep to myself, I don’t cause any trouble. And yet, because of some stupid archaic rule, I stand to become homeless. But I digress.

Point is that I have been hiding in my house for the last 6 days, feeling like utter shit. Constantly awake, wanting to cry and scream, but holding it all in.  Feeling so incredibly miserable, scared, alone, confused. I have truly never felt this way in my life. And I have been through a lot in my 30 years on this planet.

Fuck, I truly don’t even know why I am writing any of this right now, I just know that once again, the clock struck 4am and I couldn’t sleep. No matter how fucking hard I tried, and believe me, I tried.

I even have my Google home playing me some relaxing sleep music, to help calm me down and put me to sleep. No luck.

I just suddenly felt this overwhelming urge to get out of bed, get on my knees and let it all out. This of course ended in tears. And yet, it felt a bit cathartic. They do say that crying often helps, so yeah.

Once I got back into bed, I still couldn’t sleep. My mind wouldn’t stop, it just kept racing. More so than usual. It has been like this for the last 6 days/nights. I have actual pain between my eyes from the lack of sleep and the stress.

I usually write to help me deal with stuff, to let it out. I have not written in an extremely long time, but now I really had to. Even though I have not written in a long time I often find myself formulating how to phrase the stuff that haunts my mind every day. So here I am, in bed, clicking and clacking away on my laptop while my 3 dogs sleep peacefully next to me. They’re used to me and my insomnia.

What was the point of my rambling again?

I actually have no fucking clue. Wow. I just know that I had to get it out. Writing is how I deal with the demons and the stress. But I have been so fucked up lately that I have not written much. I mean it’s not like anyone is actually reading what I have to say. I am not even entirely sure if I will even post thi on my FB/blog or not.

If you are however reading this right now I guess that means that I did indeed post it online. I might regret it tomorrow, but we’ll just have to wait and see. Fuck, I need to get out of the house. But a huge part of me is afraid to leave the house. Dammit.

I am afraid that I am falling back into the same patterns that I used to be in 10 years ago. Afraid to leave the house, in bed all day, eating unhealthy food. Fuck. I truly don’t know what to do.

Being without therapy since May 2019 hasn’t helped either. Mind you, I can function perfectly fine without therapy, but I find that it really helps me cope. It helps me get through the weeks, through living with this God forsaken illness. It helps to have someone to talk to.

I have been suicidal for as long as I can remember. Having stood on that ledge many times before. The only reason that I am still alive is because of my dogs. I can’t bear the thought of them ending up in the shelter. I simply can’t. So I pretty much live for them. Even though I often feel like I am letting them down, especially on my “down days”. Don’t you just fucking love mental illness?

These suicidal thought and feelings have increased significantly lately and I truly don’t know what to do with it. It even feels different, more intense than usual. I often truly wonder just how much longer I will be able to keep this up. Feeling this way. It has been 20+ years already.

My meds have been increased and even completely changed, multiple times, but they stop working after a while. My body is weird. I am now on my second try with Prozac. I don’t feel like its working as it should be. Maybe it’s this weird body of mine, I don’t know. I just know that I am miserable.

You know what is also really fucking hard to deal with? I spend every fucking day fighting myself. Fighting the urge not to fall back into my usual coping methods. Which are quite destructive.

Cutting, binging and purging, taking pills and alcohol. I had a period of 2 years in my life where I did this a lot. That was 10 years ago. I have put in so much work to no longer do that. But fuck, fighting not to do it is so much fucking harder than just actually doing it.

Moments like this is when I have to find something to distract myself with, because I pretty much just want to pop a few benzos and throw back a bottle of whiskey.

Ha. I must sound like a total fucking addict or something. I can genuinely say that I have never been an addict before. Nor was I an alcoholic. I would get shitfaced drunk and take pills maybe once a year. That was it. And then there was this point, about 3-5 years ago that I decided to just stop it all. Even the once a year thing.

Mind you, I am not perfect. I have had a few relapses. Despite not having been an addict, I am still going through a recovery of sorts. I would get so mad at myself whenever I would relapse. But I am slowly starting to realize that it’s all a part of the process I guess.

Fuck, I am still rambling and I am just switching from subject to subject. Welcome to my mind. Step inside and enjoy the show!

To be clear, I am not some kind of psycho. People that know me can attest to this. I just have a mental illness. And it sucks. It sucks so much. I wish that there was a magic pill that I could take that would make it all go away. But alas, c’est ma vie…

I have now calmed down a bit, I think that I will once again try to get some sleep.

This may be the severe sleep deprivation talking, but I mean everything that I have said.

In the words of the world wide web… “Felt cute.. might delete later”…