I had some other stuff written, but right now in this moment, it's not even important.
I'm just not happy. There's no one emotion to describe how exactly I am these days but happy is definitely not a word I would be using in any attempt to describe my feelings. Sad isn't right either, but it's far closer to the mark. I honestly feel quite defeated, like it won't ever be fine and/or good. My days are mostly consumed by pain. The last week has been the worst week, painwise, that I have endured for around two years. The last memorable pain week was when I strained my ACL, but thinking more this past week might even be worse, or at least on par. It's just so different to the other pains I've experienced because it's so variable. It's in my knees, it's in my ankles, its in my hips, its in my thighs, its in my elbow, its in my shoulders, its in my wrist, its like its everywhere. People talk about ways of reducing it, but all the reducing boils down to another long list of things I simply can't do. And I'm just so not okay with that. I can't be. It's so defeating. I can't go for walks without tape, and even then I'm pushing my luck. I can't write without the aids of support braces/bandages whatever they are. I've long given up protecting my ankles. You can't dull long set in aches -- aches you thought you'd left in your past. The general muscle soreness is the worst part though. You can't support that. I sit on my floor because I like the space and the way I can spread things out, but I can't do that either. When I do that, my knees protest violently about holding my weight.
And I can't relieve it with drugs because I'd have to use them dangerously and the temptation to go too far with that is only too real. It's hard to understand why someone would ever find that a temptation, but trust me, when ibuprofen doesn't work anyway and you're indecisive about your place, it's pretty damn appealing. I'm not witholding drugs from myself solely for that reason either, it's the minor concern. Knowing that I'll have to double and even triple the dose to help myself puts more pressure on my liver. I don't know what kind of stress my liver is already under -- courtesy of roaccutane -- and I'm not keen to test my luck. Unless I actually decided I wanted to die.
I also think there's a difference between having the thought and planning it out. I'm in a dark place. But that's not new news. I don't think I ever truly moved out of it. I'm just tired, exhausted even. The physical pain is but a portion of why I sometimes think that it's not worth it. And I do think that it's somewhat reasonable to wonder the worth in that respect. To be in pain all day is something I do not wish to experience in the long term. I'm tired of it. As far as pain goes, my body is only a prison. It no longer works the way it should, if it ever did at all.
The lung doctors are pretty high on the list of people I don't want to hear from anymore. I don't talk to physios, I rarely talk to the GP, I talk to the dermatologist because I have to at this point -- thank you roaccutane --, the cardio let me slide and you couldn't pay me to deal with that anymore anyway. But the lung doctors? I'm so, so over this. No one even knows whats wrong, and I want to be left alone.
Being left alone. I feel so alone at the moment, words cannot explain. I know people are trying to help, trying to understand, trying to make my life as easy as possible, and yet, I can't understand why I feel so alone. Because I'm not. I often say that "this isn't as bad as 2008", but I worry its getting there, if it hasn't already. There's a poison in my mind and I can't fight it anymore. It's bigger and it's meaner than I am. It has more strength. It will always win. And who do you tell this to without scaring people? I'm in too precarious a position for the help I seem to need at this point. If it comes out how badly I'm struggling, then I might lose the drugs. And if I lose the drugs I lose the last shreds of my self esteem and I might as well have given up anyway.
I strayed a long way from being alone then. I know that I'm not the first to be like this and I certainly won't be the last. Some of my friends know more than others, you're pretty privvy if you're reading now and you know exactly who I am. But this intense loneliness I feel right now, and have felt for much of this week, has been overwhelming. I resorted to cutting, I think about it a lot. It's no longer just a simple cross of the mind on occassion and either act or dismiss. It's an aching need to engage in a behaviour that I'm not even sure helps. I've resorted to solitutude in the past and that only makes me feel worse. I'm feeling nauseous like my stomach is churning for great portions of the day and I'm eating less and less. Roaccutane's first saving grace is that it forces me to eat twice a day. I want to sleep all day, but this need to have this facade is too great, even for that.
I just don't know how to say "it's all too hard", face to face. I don't know how to admit I'm reaching the end of my tether. I don't know how to ask for help. And above all else I don't want the choice of help taken from me either.
I thought going away this weekend would kickstart a rise in my overall mood, but so far I have been very wrong. I planned to be in bed nearly half an hour ago and I'm only sitting here crying now because I'm so lost, confused and hurt. I just can't see a way out and it's terrifying. I don't think it's worth it anymore. There is no great enough end to justify what I have survived and am still surviving up until this point. When I stand up to move from couch to bed I will fight the urge to limp once more. Tomorrow I might cry again. But what of my life? I just can't definitively say that it's worth it.
And the worst part is knowing its so self inflicted.
- Sky
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