What did I do today? I mostly slept.
What do I do most days? sleep and watch mind rotting TV.
Am I likely to be going anywhere this afternoon/ on wednesday/ friday?....ooops, of course you wont.
The highlight of my week? getting out of the boundaries of the 4 walls that is my house to go to a bloody psychiatric hospital.
I breathe in and out, exchanging carbon dioxide for oxygen.
I have a pulse, it proves that my blood is circulating around my body.
My heart is beating, I am alive.
My brain is thinking, more evidence I am alive.
My nerves are sending impulses to my fingers and toes, making them tingle, so I am not completely numb.
I have little purpose, I feel once more like I am going through the motions, only this time a little bit more pathetic than before because now I am so completely dependant on my husband for getting around. I feel caged, I ask myself what is the point of staying here? What is the point with carrying on with the DBT
Then there's the pills. Sitting in a metal safe (unlocked). 5 different pills. Antidepressants, mood stabilisers, anti anxiety pills, epilepsy medication, special night time antidepressants. I am really starting to resent that little metal box. It is a chore going there 3 times a day to get my pills that rattle around inside me. It is such a bloody effort and I really hate it. It is such a silly feeling to hate and resent a box full of things that are helping you; but I do and it is building to the point where I want to get a bloody great sledge hammer and pulverize the metal box (pills included) until it is a warped, twisted tiny ball of nothingness.
THEN I will get in the car, drive to the nearest bottle-o get shit loads of alcohol and go wild and crazy on the streets of Coomera (or maybe I should drive to Surfers and go wild and go crazy, it would have more street cred)
I feel such a huge disconnect with the real world right now, it is impossible for me to see myself ever fitting back into it. I feel that every effort I am making to make some money is just a joke and a waste of time, money and effort. I am an emotional, financial and whatever else sponge and it is my poor husband that takes the weight.