Work was very hard. I could feel the depression crushing my chest. I got an appt with my pdoc at 2:30 today, a video session, so I took it. I missed mine last week because I mixed up the dates. I actually cried. I CRIED. I never, ever cry. I just felt so overwhelmed. She increased lamictal for a short time to keep my feet under me while I deal with this.
I decided to read a book I often read when distressed. Get me out of here by Rachel reiland. It’s about BPD, not BP, but the underlay is her dealing with childhood abuse that she never saw as abuse, which is what I’m dealing with except in the context of my marriage. I put it down an hour ago so I could try to get some sleep. I’m not having SI yet. I’d like to SH but it’s pointless, it would only upset RS and would only make me feel better for a moment.
I think I need to start keeping a journal again. I had a nice pretty one but I’m not sure what I did with it. It’s easier to type. I guess I should fire up my chrome book.
I have therapy tomorrow. I’m going to bring up the anxiety at least, we will see where it leads.
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Of course it is happening inside your head. But why on earth should that mean that it is not real?
-Albus Dumbledore
That’s life. If nothing else, that is life. It’s real. Sometimes it
f—-ing hurts. But it’s sort of all we have.
-Garden State
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