I don't know what's wrong with me anymore. I mean, I do. I have a diagnosis. Two different forms of anxiety. Panic disorder. OCD. Borderline agoraphobia. New meds that make me feel like I'm in a fog. At least, I think it's the meds. Maybe it's just the mental illnesses. I don't fucking know. I hate it.
I can't even pinpoint when I started spiraling anymore. Was it late August? Mid-September? I don't know. My mind is jumbled. My mind is broken. My mind is sad.
I wish I could explain how deep in hell I feel like I am. I wish I could explain why the most random things trigger my fight, flight, or freeze reflexes. I wish I could explain why I've stopped talking, why I've stopped reaching out. Sometimes I feel like everyone has their own bullshit, far worse than my stupid shit. Sometimes I feel that people won't care. I've been shown enough in my life that because I'm not a certain way, because I'm not a certain type, that I really just don't matter. I've had people brush me off when I talk about my problems, people that I have tried to be there for when it matters. Maybe that latter feeling is all in my head, too. My friends and family are good people. They're just not mind readers.
I'm tired. I'm tired of the life I'm living. I'm tired of fighting every day to have some semblance of control and normalcy. I'm tired of school, and my god, does that pain me to type that. I LOVE school. I love learning. I don't love it right now when I feel like I'm being pulled in a million different directions and my brain is spiraling into madness because some bullshit triggered my OCD. I have a million different things to do. The holidays are upon us. I have projects up the ass. I keep missing Spanish meetings because my anxiety ramps up. My only saving graces are that I'm doing well enough that I shouldn't completely bomb out of everything. I hope.
I just want one day, one hour, even one minute of feeling like I did a few months ago. Before all of this. Before I turned into a giant bag of nerves that gets twanged by the tiniest thing. Before I felt like the world was going to end every day. Before the fear of dying showed up to haunt the times I have to go somewhere.
I've tried a lot of things to get through these days. Self-help books didn't help. Meds are barely helping. Trying to brush it off and say that it is all in my head doesn't help and just makes me feel like I'm a useless bag of crap that can't deal with anything.
I'm honestly at a loss. I have no idea what to do anymore. I'm hoping that I'll just snap out of it, but no, it is never that easy. Maybe it will fade like it has done sometimes in the past. Maybe I'll just die of old age still living with this shit making my every waking moment hell. No wonder I go to bed so early. It's the only way to let go.
I have an appointment with my psych on Tuesday, and it may be time to change up my meds again. Maybe I just need more time with my therapist, who is, of course, leaving from the place where I see him. Which of course means I will have another task to do by trying to find a new therapist that I mesh with. Fun times. I'm tired already.
And that will end this post.
