I’m lost. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore or where I’m going. I used to have so much motivation to do stuff (just “stuff” mind you, but stuff all the same). Now it’s an achievement to get up and get through each day. I am directionless; wandering aimlessly through life.
Somewhere deep inside there are things I want to do; things I want to achieve, but I don’t know where to start. I’m not even sure what the first step is, and even when I do know, I’m afraid to take it. I feel like something is holding me back, only I don’t really know what it is. I’m quite sure it’s me. I am the only one holding me back. But I don’t know how to fix that.
It all seems so pointless and like I will be stuck in this unhappy hell forever.
Which is all a fast route to the dark place and wishing I’d done the unthinkable when I had the chance. My therapist thinks it could be the change in meds that’s done this to me, but that’s just her nauseatingly rational brain talking, I’m sure.
Distraction, she says. Do nice things, she says. Easy for her to say sitting there with her perfect life and her perfectly functioning brain.
I was brought up in a household that believed in work. And rest. But very little play. Play was an indulgence. Not a standard part of life.
Who the hell was I thinking I had a right to be happy? And who the hell was my therapist giving me hope like that?
After a few weeks of generally doing ok, I feel like I’m letting her down. She looked so disappointed when I told her how I was feeling. I even got the doe eyes. Or are they the bored eyes? I’ll never know.
Sometimes I think life was easier inside my emotional prison… working, working, working. I knew how to do that. I don’t know how to do this other thing. This thing called “life”.
Why does healing have to be one step forward and two steps back all the time? Haven’t I been dealt a hand of sh1t enough already?
* Sigh *