I know that the Bupropion is making my head case worse. Sunday night
I cried myself to sleep, wishing not to wake up Monday morning. Tonight I
cried looking at the clock at 10:57, realizing that I needed sleep
because I have a long, clandestinely painful day tomorrow and I need the
rest, and damnit I already want the day to be over so I can crawl back
into bed and forget the day ever happened. (You know, the one that
hasn’t happened yet.) Every time I try to sleep I start sobbing and my
brain feels like it’s about to implode. So I play mindless games on my
phone, scroll through Facebook and Pinterest and Wanelo to take my mind
off of my life. I put my phone down and start crying again. I don’t know
how to handle this. I can’t abandon my work for my health. I am in a
position where I am the only person in the office that does what I do. I
need to be there. But I feel like I should be somewhere else, somewhere
safe. I need to be fixed.
People keep trying to help
by saying they know great doctors. I’d love to go to these places but I
won’t be able to. As it is, these two ER trips are going to cost at
least $1500, plus a hundred in office visit copays, plus ER doctor and
radiography bills, plus the hundred dollar premium every month for this
awesome insurance. I’m going to have a hard enough time paying for
what’s already happened, let alone out of pocket for some great doctor
that’s not going to be in network. Add to that the debt of student loans I
haven’t even started paying, the car payment that keeps slipping more
and more behind every month, and the fact that I’m turning 25 in a week
and can’t support myself. I know that I’m not the only person in the
world with money problems. But I am drowning and every time I think about
things I need, I think about their cost and how, if I take time off of
work like I should, like I need to, there is no hope. I know I’m not the
only person in the world with health and mental problems, either. But I
don’t know how to ask for help. I don’t know how to take interest in
myself.
It used to be that I’d spend a moment or two
every day thinking about death. I haven’t been suicidal for several
years, but I’d just think about death a lot. I’m just not a happy
person. I don’t know what made it change. But now, I just want tomorrow
to be over. And the next day, and the next until I have a day where I’m
not obligated to do anything and I can just lay in bed and leave the
world out of my head. I don’t care about work. I don’t care about
projects I’ve started for myself or other people. I don’t care about
keeping my room clean or the furniture moving I’ve had planned in my
head. I don’t care about anything. Now, I find myself thinking it might
not be such bad luck to get hit by some driver not paying attention, or
thinking about all of those pills sitting in my bag, then realizing I
don’t even know if it’d be enough. I hurt myself again the other day
without even thinking about it. Completely absentmindedly. What now?
Not
to mention I find myself feeling like I’ve let down Mr. Fantastic and my family.
My parents looked at me like I was an alien when I told them what the
Bupropion was for. They looked at me like I was a different person, a
stranger. When I start crying for no apparent reason, Mr. Fantastic desperately
asks if there’s anything he can do or say to help. I don’t know what to
tell him because I don’t want him to tell him how I feel. I almost don’t
want him to know how fucked up my brain feels. I don’t want him to
think that I don’t love him, that he doesn’t mean the world to me.
People in relationships with those that try to kill themselves tend to
get a little offended that the suicidal person didn’t think about anyone
else. But it’s not like that. He’s the reason I know I wouldn’t. It
would kill him. But I can’t bring myself to tell him that I have zero
feeling for the rest of the world. That if I could just go to sleep and
not wake up for a while, it’d make me unbelievably happy. I can’t bring
myself to say that that’s what makes me cry, the desperate longing for a
black void, the hopelessness that it’s not a wish able to be granted.
That somehow, somewhere I will have to find the ability to get out of
bed in three hours (from now) to go to work, plaster a smile on my face
for twelve hours, before finally being able to be done with it. For one
day. Just to start it all over again.
My Love, I love
you. You are my whole world. You’re the one puzzle piece that connects
them all together: the good ones, the bad ones, the edges and the
insides. I want to be able to tell you everything all the time but I
just can’t. I need you to understand that when I start crying for no
apparent reason, it’s enough for you to just be there. You don’t ever
need to say anything. There’s nothing you’re obligated to do. If I can
tell you what’s going on, I will. Don’t stop trying to make me smile.
Every time I do, it makes me forget everything else for a little while,
even if only for a moment. I know it’s hard to understand when I can’t
put anything into words. Just know that when it feels like the whole
world is crushing me like an ant, you hold my hand or hold my shoulders
and I know that I want to feel that for a really long time.
7/29/14
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