I am doing everything I possibly can to move forward. I am making sure I get enough sleep at night. I am eating three proper meals a day. I take my medications. I have even been getting a little bit of exercise into my day. Looking at this, one would think that I am on track to be in good health and spirits.
Life right now is a hamster wheel. And all of my efforts for forward progress are getting me nowhere. I still have this lingering cough that makes my chest ache. I am still dealing with being depressed. And I am still having a hard time writing or doing anything else creative. I am struggling to be patient with my kids even more than usual because my mental capacity is hindered by the depression.
I look around and there is nothing in the present that should be causing this aside from brain chemistry issues. It frustrates me. A part of me still kinda is stuck in the socially approved story that depression is sadness over an event in the present. I get frustrated and angry with myself when I don't have something to point at and say 'This caused it.' I get so upset when I realize that it is a combination of neural chemistry issues and past events. I get so angry about the past events still bothering me.
Something in me says that I should be over it. Stuff that happened thirty years ago still comes to mind and makes it hard for me to sleep at night. Stuff that happened twenty years ago comes to mind and makes me want to scream in terror at times. I look around me and I see the world carrying on as it does usually and I feel cut off from it. I feel like my PTSD has ripped me out of my life and left me to watch as everyone else is progressing through the 'normal' events of their 30s.
My therapist tells me that I am perfectly normal. That I am a text book case of complex post-traumatic stress disorder and of bipolar II. It doesn't reassure me on days like today. Days where I had planned on doing simple things like cooking dinner and putting laundry away get interfered by my sudden lack of energy and overwhelming sense of despair due to my depression are arduous. Add in the peppering of flashbacks to the various traumatic events I have lived through and my day feels like I am just a walking mass of anxiety and exhaustion.
I sit here and I question why I should keep going. Then I get angry with myself for those questions. I have responsibilities that I can not just drop. I have things that I want to get done before I die. I have a book series to finish writing. But I am so tired. And I am so full of despair.
I don't know what to do about it. I don't know if writing this post was a good idea or not. All six of you probably have me friended on Facebook. So, you have seen this struggle as it has been unfurling. I vainly thought there would be some form of catharsis in writing this. But it feels much the same as writing in my journal. Sans the pleasure that comes from looking at my handwriting when it is neat and tidy.