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Giving up (*potentially triggering*)

Posted by Amelia_in_StPaul on April 29, 2009, at 14:22:38

I just need to rant for a second.

I am so tired of everything. I am so tired of being tired. I am so tired of being depressed. I am so tired of taking medication so as not to be depressed, and then ending up tired. Breaking appointments with friends. Breaking promises to myself. Because I sleep 12 hours on meds and wake up groggy and then have myself to deal with, myself myself myself. I am so sick of myself.

I am tired of stress. I am tired of living in a bombed out (not literally) house that we have been working on for 9 years. I am tired of not having a kid, not writing a novel, not having friends, not finishing a PhD, not doing any of it because I am tired, I am depressed, and I have this f&**ed up house to work on, which I have to work on, because there isn't enough money to hire out for all that needed and continues to need fixed.

I am tired of being poor because I live in a house that fell apart, that literally collapsed, and every little last bit of money has gone to fixing it.

I want to leave but we live in a state where the banks will go after us for the difference between foreclosure and value if we do leave. And an attorney has advised us the bank WILL go after us. So we're stuck stuck stuck.

I'm tired of being hot and cold in friendships. Excited to see friends when I have a bit of energy, then falling out of their lives when I am tired and depressed. They are tired of it too. I have really no one but my spouse, except for the superficial friendships that involve occasionally getting a cup of coffee, and not really talking about life. I have to hide my raging depressions and anxieties and self-esteem issues. Friends, these friends, they don't want to hear it.

I'm tired of myself.

Everyday (WARNING: TRIGGER), I see my end.

I see myself dead by the time my parent died: 40. I keep seeing myself dead. I keep seeing myself committing suicide in the intractable, not-crying-out-for-help act that I am sure I will perform. I see myself pinning a note to my coat that's written in sharpie pen. I see myself writing letters to my spouse, my mother, a couple relatives I hold dear. A letter to the paramedics: I'm sorry you have to see yet another death; I'm sorry for what I've done here, I'm sorry that you see this every day. I see that I am stuck inside of choices that give me no true way out, besides that dreaded end. I keep seeing it in my head and I feel I know it will come true.

The few people I still see: their lives are so different from mine. They are writers, too, but they have had nothing like depression or a bad choice in housing to distract them. They have published much more, produced plays, gotten their PhDs, had a child or two.

I live in this empty, always-in-process house, in a state where there is sunshine 5 months out of the year, and sometimes I cannot write because I cannot concentrate. I am sick of it all. I am so tired of it all.

I don't want to go back on the medication-go-round. I don't want anymore of this struggle.
I don't want to go to the hospital, because the hospital is where I ended up worse than I ever was. The hospital is where I thought I would be safe and where I wasn't at all.

God help me.




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poster:Amelia_in_StPaul thread:893471