Until this all crashes down.
I was about to write a post the other day about how much better things were going. Irony. I didn’t get around to it. I meant to, just ran out of time. Then shit hit the fan. Not quite literal, the cats haven’t learned to projectile-poo, yet. Give them time. My days have been working well, waking up fairly early, and actually sleeping. My meds are putting me to sleep shortly after I take them, which I what I need. That said, I’m not sleeping calmly, or without nightmares, just actually sleeping. I suppose that’s still a plus. I’ve even been taking them every day.
I’ll hold on. Into the darkness, not knowing at all.
I didn’t want to take them today, or even shower. That’s two days in a row I didn’t want to shower. This doesn’t bode well. I’ve had so many things going on, that I’m shutting down. My brain is in so many directions, that I don’t know which way is up and forward. I feel like I’m sinking. I feel exponentially better on these meds. That’s not to say that I’m not being pummeled with shit to deal with. I wonder, often, if a non-fucked up person would still feel like they’re crashing with the things I’m dealing with.
I feel helpless, waiting. Could this all be the end? It’s coming down all at once. Am I losing you?
I’m tired of fighting. I’ve been fighting with friends, with people I’ve adopted as family, with acquaintances. My temper is shorter than it used to be, and that’s saying something. One of my very few public and social outlets just shut down. This is reminding me of the last time something like this happened and how much it affected me. They are absolutely not comparable in effect and end result, but it just brings the memory. I remember feeling devastated. Now, I’m just sad.
Are you out there, waiting? Wondering about me?
I’ve spent the last month or two hiding myself more than usual from people I care about. I always hide the worst of me, but I’ve gotten to the point where I hide the rest of it, too. I don’t say the things I think or feel, or want to say. I’m too worried that I’ll upset someone. At what point does that lose me, and you become acquainted with a doppelganger? If it looks like me, and kind of acts like me, but isn’t me, isn’t that rather the definition? So, now, have I become my own doppelganger?
I’ve never felt so alone, as I do now.
Knowing that I’ve created this other version of myself to try to appease others, it makes it feel more like I’m behind the glass of a mirror, pounding to get free. I’m there, I can see out, but no one can see me. No one but the doppelganger, that is. And as she drapes a curtain across the surface, I can see the wicked smile of glee in the deception. Is that hers, or is it really mine? Sometimes I wonder. I really do.
Hold onto me.
I’m a horrible person.