It's been a while...

It's been a while, since I felt the compulsion to sit down and let the words out, since I've been honest with myself about how I am truly doing. I have been reading, so much reading.. Not just about the clinical side of what it means to be Bi-Polar, but perspectives of those who live with, and struggle with similar issues that I am. I am an avid reader of the website The Mighty, as well as a few others that I follow on Facebook. One of the things that I really love about The Mighty is that it's real. It's real people, telling their stories. In all the sordid detail, there's no sugar coating. It's people, who have laid bare their own struggles, fears, and insecurities. Something I've struggled with even here; in my hidden away little blog that no one knows about or reads. And that's fine. This isn't for anyone else, it's for me. That said, I wish that I was brave enough to really talk about what it's like for me.

I was asked how I was doing by someone I trust implicitly, and I said I was doing better. Better than what?  Better than the few days ago that I told my husband that I wanted to die? Or the days before that when I planned when and how I was going to end my life? I wish that I could say I was brave and fought off those feelings, that temptation...But I wasn't. I called the suicide prevention hotline after repeatedly telling my husband that I was fine, and he didn't need to come home from work. I called, the person on the other end.. they were nice. They were calm, they said all the things they thought they were supposed to. Except, they said to contact a friend that I trusted. What I failed to mention to them or that specific friend was that I gave myself a time limit. I gave myself 1 hour. If I didn't hear from my friend in that time I would follow through with my intended plan. I wish that I could honestly say that I am thankful that my friend contacted me, but there are days when I wish they hadn't.

I see the look in my husband's eyes, searching for any sign that I am swinging so far down there's no way back up. Watching me like a hawk, making sure I take my medication, questioning me if I don't, double checking the pill box, counting the tabs in the bottle. He thinks I don't notice, and mostly I don't.. but sometimes I do. And it hurts. It hurts to admit, that I get it. I get that he's trying to make sure I am okay. That I am doing what I am supposed to do, on the days I am feigning taking care of myself; and  especially on the days when it's a struggle to get out of bed. When I don't want to be a wife or mother, when I don't even want to be alive.

It's really hard to put those words out there, much harder to write them and then NOT delete them. It would be easier to hide them away.. to pretend that I don't struggle. That it's all fine and dandy. But it's not. I am doing.. am I doing better? Honestly, I don't know. Some days maybe, but most days.. Not. I struggle to sleep without prescription assistance. I struggle in just taking the base meds that I am supposed to.. not because they're hard to remember.. but honestly I just don't want to. Nothing seems to "fix this". I am so tired of fighting, of slapping a fake smile on my face, of forcing myself to get through the day.

I read a story on The Mighty tonight, the author talks about how hard it is to go to work when you're struggling with mental illness. I couldn't believe how honest they were with the struggles of getting through the day. It was as if they had peeked behind the curtain I have so painstakingly laid about and laid bare my secrets. The fight to get up, and out the door. The forcing yourself to NOT cry.. the explosive need to do so. The exhaustion that come after the torrent has gone, but how you still have to put on a smile and get through the rest of your shit. There are days when it's just too hard, that I don't have the fight in me. I relish those days, when I don't have to be strong. I don't have to hide how close I am to falling completely apart. But I am falling apart all the time. I have just learned to hide. I know the smile that needs to be seen, how no one looks to close, how they don't see the dead look in my eyes. How to put on the show of being fine, how to exude happiness when your raw inside. These things I excel at.  Being open and straight forward with what is truly going on? Not so much.

I would like to say that I am working on it, I would like to have the courage to work on it. I would like to have the energy, the desire. But it feels like so much work, and I have become so comfortable where I am. I can rationalize how unhealthy that must be, but it's so comfortable behind the curtain why come out? Tomorrow is always a new day right? So, what do you do when you hope that tomorrow never comes?