deza | (no subject)

I am... not doing so very well.

The rug was pulled out from under my feet yesterday. I've told myself for years now that I'm ok, I've got it together, I can get through anything. Yesterday I found out that I'm mentally messed up enough to count as disabled on just that.

Well, that explains my writing, at least.

This has thrown me for a serious loop. I'm not ok. I'm not completely sane. I'm not even coping so well. Going through even a fraction of my past left me crying for hours afterward. Today, I'm emotionally spent. I've been crying off an on again, but for the most part I just feel dead inside. Andrew's tried to cheer me up, but his brand of morbid humor's been missing the mark on this. A for effort, though.

Gods, now I sound like the original Emo.

The psychologist asked if I'm suicidal. I said no, because suicide would keep my family from getting as much of a death benefit. I'm alive, but not for the right reasons.

This post brought to you be the letters W, A, and H.

Hopefully I'll be back to my normal self soon.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Hopefully, yes you will. If you aren't, you have damn good reason to ask for a chemical assist till you can get your emotional footing again. You have physical reasons for not doing well mentally, and past history shit can reach up and bite your ass when you least expect it. (trust me). You've managed to keep the mental uglies at bay your whole life, the physical uglies may have lessened your ability to do so. Be kind to yourself. Women may SEEM invincible, but we aren't. Friends are the people who declare "gotcher back, pookie". *hugs you good*

I tend to avoid the chemical assists (like that term!) like the plague. They kill my creativity, and not just while I'm taking them. Every time I've been on an anti-d, I've lost the ability to write for a year or so afterward.

It's a good term. They're no more than a cane or pair of crutches when you can't walk well, you know? And yeah, I understand the killing of the creativity. I told Himself at one point that if that damn doc told me ONE more time that I needed an antidepressant, I was gonna rip her face off. Funny, he found us a new doc shortly after that. ;)