Let's see, it's mid-February. It's 14 degrees outside. Someone of importance at my work last week called me, among other things I'm not going to get into here because I will cry, inefficient (even thought I've not missed a deadline in the five months I've worked here). I've been in my new job long enough to have the blinders ripped off me to see the misery of office politics rearing its head. I blew my diet. And so on.
Looks like it's about time for "the spiral," or that period of time when I become some caricature of an anti-depressant advertisement. Do you feel sad, tired, increasingly emotional? Disinterested in the activities you usually enjoy?
I'm taking my meds. I've seen my therapist twice in the last six days. I'm using my light box and exercising and making myself do those things I usually enjoy, even when I'd rather crawl under the covers and escape to oblivion. I'm trying to practice the skills I learned in group therapy, working out the issues that seemingly sent me careening into the abyss.
But damnit, I'm so sick of having to do this. If I could just tell my stupid brain to shut the fu** up. It says things to me -- awful, hurtful things about my worth, or lack of it -- and I'm too weak to NOT believe it. I wish I were one of those people who could just ignore these things. Blow them off. Discredit them with an eyeroll and move on. But I'm not. Character flaw I guess -- believing that people should be inherently good and nice and that life should be generally happy and enjoyable.
I'm neck deep in the all-or-nothing thinking. The mind reading. The negative self-talk. The awfulizing.
This moment. Today. Is why my good, stable, emotionally healthy times are so bittersweet. I always know they're eventually going to end.