I have long had this image of Self-Loathing as either a dirty, shuffling wreck of a woman or someone very haughty with sharp fingernails and a sharper tongue. It turns out, however, that behind that disguise, SL may in fact be a little girl.
Lately, I don’t think very much about suicide. It’s not that I have been beating down suicidal impulses, but simply that when I’m doing better, I don’t think about dying. But then there was last night.
I’m doing better than I was, but I feel I should be seeing more evidence of it. Instead, I’m still depleted and get almost nothing done.
Today I’m being unreasonable. I know it. I also know that “all my feelings are acceptable,” even the unreasonable ones. So this evening, I’m trying to find some kind of balance between allowing myself to pout and fret because things are changing in a way I don’t want and accepting that things have to change.
Over the past six weeks, I’ve been working with a new psych nurse to clean up my overly medicated brain.
In recent weeks, I’ve spent more time in bed than I typically spend in three months. It’s just been a fairly steady slide into listlessness. I go to therapy but don’t make any progress because I don’t have the energy to do much of anything. I’ve never experienced this before. I’ve been depressed, yes, but…
If my depression is not like scarlet fever, then maybe it’s like an auto-immune disorder; the brain attacking itself.