I’ve not written for a while.
I guess I thought I didn’t need it.
I thought I was getting better.
But I’ve realised I’m not. I’ve just been masking.
I’ve been coming off my medication to see if I can find a better more stable version of me.
The plan is to start mood stabilisers because I honestly thought the antidepressants weren’t working. But as I have reduced the dosage, the thoughts of letting the black wash over me are so very present.
The problem with the antidepressants is how they make me feel with the rest of things. I walk around in a trance with no interest in anything.
No concerns about what is happening around me or to those I love. I just don’t care. And now I’ve remembered what it’s like to be present, I don’t want to go back.
But being back, whilst I feel more creative and interested in the world, I have become a danger to myself. The cutting, the impulses. They’re all there in every minute of my day.
I don’t often mention my husband in my blog, but I can see how stressed he is feeling.
He has been trying to come up with ways to bring in more income to allow me more time to get better. And it’s destroying him. He’s working every waking minute, getting stressed with things he has no control over and would usually shrug off. And I hate seeing him like this. And now I’m present I can see the impact on him. In my pain and grief, I didn’t consider my actions and the effects on others.
I did that.
I so desperately want to be better. To work with him rather than against him.
I’m trying. But it’s so bloody hard.