Sometimes I just wonder if it’s just something intrinsically wrong with me – not chemicals at all, but just a thing that’s broken, fucked up, and taking the pills is only slapping a band-aid on the truth of it.
I’m sitting here with tears just rolling down my face, because I am completely screwed and I don’t know how I’m going to fix it. I believe in what I’m doing, but I don’t believe in myself. I’m not reliable, not when it comes to taking care of me.
I thought I had drive, but I don’t. Only when my back is truly to the wall.
Bugger all this for a lark. I’m even too lazy to just be done with it.
I wish, just for once, someone would care enough – and have the ability – to rush in and truly rescue me. I’m tired of trying to keep afloat on my own. Bone tired. Dead tired.
I don’t even know how to end this. Or if I should publish it. But it’s how I feel. I don’t want to lie about it and show a happy face to the world. That’s crap. People are always like “be positive!” Well you know what? Sometimes it hurts more to lie about it than it does to just hurt from the depression. I can look at the positive parts of my life. That’s not the problem. But I’m not going to lie to you. I’m not going to deny how horrible I feel. That’s not fair to ME. It’s a lie that hurts.
I’m scared, people. I have bills that I haven’t been able to even touch. I haven’t been able to take care of a lot of the things I need to in order to be officially living in B’more. I can’t get motivated to do the things I love, like SPIN. The thing that I love to do more than anything, the thing that makes me money, the thing that I obsess over… I can’t seem to want to do. That’s not right.
I can’t afford to go to the doctor. I’m not officially a resident yet, so I can’t go to a clinic. So there’s no adjusting of the meds that I’m not even sure are doing much of anything but band-aiding the problem anyway.
I feel alone. And damn helpless.
I don’t want this.