Not Enough Energy to Think of a Title

Paralyzed. Anxiety attack. Ache in my chest. Cutting andburning is prettier. Trying to get help. Why is calling a damn therapist sofucking hard? Why is going two hours without crying a major effort? Why doesdoing anything feel like climbing the Great Wall? I am not well. I am not wellat all.

Reading website after website of treatment specialties andmodalities to find that someone who is going to help me. That someone who isnot going to give up on me (when I already have). So many decisions. Decisionsthat paralyze me into a motionless, stoic rock of a person. The emotions havefallen off my face and there is nothing but blankness. Nothing but nothingness.Husband’s attempts at making me smile I love him so much for, but it hurts. Ithurts to make any responsive emotion outside of pain. And anger. I am so angry.Anger seeps from my pores and hangs like a stench around my meaningless rock of aself.

I feel nauseous through my core. Food? Why food? Sleep? Lastfew weeks it was none. This week it is more, more, more. So nervous aboutmeeting a new therapist and psychiatrist. So ashamed to be following this cycleagain. My family asks what’s wrong? Are you ok? (with that knowing tone intheir voice).  The words are stuck in my throatchoking me. I need help I need help I need help I need help. I just want topurge it all. Get it out. How does one admit the dead and helpless wanting tocurl in on yourself feeling? The shame of knowing that I NEED to feel likethis. I need to defile myself. To put the pain on the outside. No one can seeit until you put it on the outside.

Be tough! I don’t want to be tough anymore. No one believesyou when you say you’re in mental pain. No one understands that this hurts morethan a sprained ankle or a broken arm. But you present with these, they takeaction. You go to a doctor, and you’re not looked at as attention-seeking orinvalid, and every word you say isn’t held against your treatment. Because it’sreal. They can see the blood and the bruising. They can feel the wrongness ofthe position of the bone. But that mental pain. Tough it out. Be strong. Fightit.

I don’t want to fight anymore. I want to submit. I want someoneto scoop me up and carry me on their back while they fight my battles. I’mtired of fighting. I want this war to be over, so I can go home and build abetter life.

If a better life exists.