Not fighting anyone in particular… maybe my Core brat. Sheesh, ever since she made herself known we have been having a harder time. I am feeling things I do not care to feel. I am having thoughts I do not care to think. I am doing things I do not care to do. It feels like my brain is either imploding or exploding, I’m not sure yet.
However! We, no, I am doing some things right like spending 3 days under observation because we did not feel safe. Best thing. We, ugh, again, I oh boy…my train of thought totally fell of the tracks. Oh yea, it was about the IOP. We start that again tomorrow. Thank The Goddess! (If you’re confizzled about the we/I thing… a dear friend of mine once told me that using the “I” statement is more conducive to being a bit more stable.)
The fighting. Let’s get to that. That is all we are doing and boy is it exhausting. We are fighting really bad depression. It started getting its hooks in yet again yesterday later in the afternoon. You know that feeling that something is not quite right. Little feathery fingers strumming on your very soul with dread. It’s a feeling you cannot escape but have to deal with. There is nothing that we need to fear right now. There is not a court date yet. If you couldn’t tell from yesterdays post, cutting was right there front and center. I have to admit there are new marks on my arm. You want to know the funny thing? Usually The Cutter cuts my right arm. This time it was the left. Me thinks it is the Core that is doing that. She seems predominantly right-handed. It makes sense. When she first popped her head up we could not use our left hand for the usual things, we had to switch some things around… since then we are back to almost normal with what hand we use. In other words, the mouse is on the right side for us again which is the left.
The good thing is that we can “snap” out of the depression by being with other people, whether electronically, via phone, or better yet in person. We worry when none of that matters. We have also removed some chairs from our support table. Sadly it had to be done. Anyone who adds to stress or anxiety or depression cannot be at our table. It may be that they are not even aware they were doing that to us. We have invited a couple new people to our table now and it is a good thing.
So we march on fighting the fight, battle-scarred and weary but fighting. One comment that we heard today was that we didn’t look like we needed the IOP and I commented back that the makeup was there to deter tears and that we were really falling apart inside still and barely hanging on. Crap. I just looked back and saw all the “we we we” and not “I I I” oh well. I’m not going back to change it anymore tonight lol.
We fight by getting washed and dressed in something other than pjs when we get up… well, it’s a work in progress but when we do we feel better. Not much but enough.
We fight by answering or returning a missed call from a friend.
We fight by getting up and looking out the window.
We fight by trying to eat before our blood sugar drops.
We fight by taking care of things financially the best we can with no real income.
We fight by going to the ED when we do not feel safe.
We fight by asking for help when we really need it, well, more than half the time anyway.
We fight by blogging.
We fight by listening to music.
We fight by practicing Reiki.
We fight by hanging on to our Pagan faith.
We fight for Coco.
We fight for our son.
Most of all we are fighting for our life.
We live to fight another day.
Diana (April, 15, 2015)