The Beginning of Another Downward Spiral

All day today I’ve been putting on a happy face. For the past few days I’ve been genuinely happy, despite my mental breakdown yesterday, I’ve been rather happy. Today, however, I’ve had the feeling, the urge to cry and I have no idea why. I’m not sad, I didn’t encounter a sad story, and on the other side of the spectrum, I’m not so giddy it makes me want to cry tears of joy. I begin to feel this way when I’m on the verge of a downward spiral.

These can last for days, weeks or even months. I have no way of knowing in advance how long it will be until I can see the brighter side of things. Until then I feel like I’m walking through a mass of cobwebs. Sometimes I can struggle hard enough and break free fairly quickly, but there are other times I can’t fight through hard enough or fast enough and I end up sitting there, longer than I ever want to, waiting till I regain my strength to start fighting again.

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My heart aches, and I don’t know exactly why. I feel things so deeply so when I’m mad, I’m pissed. When I’m happy, I’m a total goofball. When I’m sad, I hurt so profoundly it becomes almost physical. I become so consumed by my demons I’m barely able to do the bare essentials for my children. I watch them, I feed them, but that’s about it. I go to bed feeling like a failure, so I wake up feeling I’ve already failed.

I hate this moment. Being on the edge, looking over, and knowing I’ll soon be headed down there, into the abyss. I’d rather being headed down than standing on the edge, losing my balance, knowing I’m losing my balance, and being powerless to stop it.

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I went to therapy for two years. He was concerned I may be bipolar because of my drastic changes in moods, but he concluded I am not. He helped me gain a better sense of self and self worth, I faced many demons of my past and overcame them, yet I am still in this state of sorrow almost all the time. This leads me to believe there is something wrong with the chemical makeup in my brain. I am a miserable person, but I’m miserable for no apparent reason. It’s my natural state. I suffer from moderate depression, but I’m not manic. I’m not suicidal, I’ve never desired to kill myself, but I am a recovering cutter. I haven’t cut myself in seven years and three months, but that does not mean the desire has gone away.

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My depression, anxiety, and pain have fueled my poetic works ever since I can remember. I have always loved writing and getting my darkest thoughts down on paper gets it out of my head for a while. But eventually writings get discovered by snooping parents. That’s when I started cutting. I never used a razor blade or knives, nothing sharp like that. It wasn’t about the bleeding per say, it was about the pain. I used safety pins and I would carve lines, words, or sketch a design. Whatever it took to match the physical pain with my emotional pain. I’d let myself bleed, I never bled too much, and when it dried I would feel as though my emotional pain died. As most destructive behavior goes, it only worked for a short while before I felt the need to do it again.

Now, I wouldn’t dare start again. My children are too important to me and I don’t need them seeing that self destruction coming from me when I’m trying to teach them healthy ways to cope with their feelings. My husband isn’t much help in these situations because he has suppressed his emotions so deep and for so long he’s practically a Vulcan (for those of you who never saw Star Trek, a Vulcan is an alien species that don’t allow emotions to govern them; they are strictly logical).

Star-Trek-Vulcans-vulcans-9073373-750-600               vulcan

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Dammit, now I want to stuff my face with ice cream and have a Star Trek marathon. *Sigh* I’ll be in my fort if you need me.

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