My dog is sleeping in my bed. She looks peaceful, even though she has been on a tear all day. And here I am, up in the middle of the night, typing away because there is no one to talk to right now.
My house is a safe place and it is the only place I want to be. I went to my mom’s last night. I felt okay for awhile there, but then I didn’t. And I had to leave. I went to therapy today and made plans. Those plans made me feel better for awhile, but now I don’t feel okay. My other attempt at being “out” in the world ended in a panic attack, stranding me 30 minutes from home, on a trip to buy cigarettes.
Other than those places, I have not left home since Wednesday when I came home from work. The thought of going somewhere, of interacting, is painful and terrifying. Every word, every action and non-action, every look tells me I am not safe. I don’t know this because I see and hear. I just know.
The only comfort I have right now is that I have a plan.
I will be taking a leave of absence from work and going outpatient, hopefully at the place my therapist wants me to go. She says I cannot work next week and I have already talked to my supervisor.
The goal is to eventually go back to work part-time in the afternoons after I go to the day program in the morning.
I will hopefully be meeting with a psychiatrist or ARNP that will work with me on changing my medication.
Between the day program and more therapy sessions, maybe I can function again. Right now I can’t even bring myself to go to the grocery store for coffee and creamer.
And I can’t sleep. And those few hours I do sleep are horrible. And there is that ever-lingering feeling of ICK. And depression. And hating myself. And anxiety…always anxiety.
My other comfort…that I will be with Malcom soon…somewhere toward the end of June, we hope. He is my saving grace.
I may not post much for awhile, or I may post a lot. I’m not sure yet. I can’t post a lot of what is in my head, because it is not fit for reading.
Hopefully I can post and say that I feel better.