(Or: At Home – Day Sixty-Two)
I am singularly not coping.
Every single emotion is at a terrifying extreme. I am swinging from love to hate to angry to sad to fucking livid to happy to fine and back again. Nearly threw my phone through a bus window (not through an open one, literally THROUGH, glass and all) and instead basically lobbed it at my partner and snapped “please fucking fix it” before bursting into tears.
It’s getting hard to maintain my relationships. Any relationships. The rowing with my partner has got out of hand completely, and I feel like I spend most of my time trying not to snap about yet another fucking thing which I swear to god I’ve discussed before and oh sweet jesus, I ask for transparency and I get 24/7 sulking and I don’t even know why half the time. Fucking hell. Add to that perpetual paranoia about what friends I have left, and the fact that my mother took less than five minutes to trigger hysterical floods of tears earlier today, and I’m considering becoming a hermit until the end of time amen (were it not that I’m excruciatingly lonely).
I don’t know what to do with myself. No psych appointment, my care co-ordinator has disappeared and I can’t handle anything right now. I keep asking for things to be taken out of my hands by anybody, but nobody seems to be doing so. I’ve had conversations practically every other day trying to explain that right now my stress and anxiety levels are stratospheric and my brain is killing me.
Oddly enough, it hurts like hell and it is exhausting trying to get through a day without lobbing myself out of the window or packing a bag and leaving, either through anger or because I can’t bear constantly being angry. I spend most of my time trying not to cry, and occasionally losing the battle. My heartrate is perpetually elevated as I try to get the impetus to leave the house and keep going, and it’s getting worse rather than better. And given that I’ve been saying for weeks that I can’t cope, that’s a pretty damning indictment.
I don’t think I can stay at home much longer. I would rather run the fuck away than have to go back into acute inpatient. I have to live with my mother for six weeks, too, come September. The few things I’m enjoying aren’t going to be possible any more, and I can’t even orientate myself to get to my support groups because it depends on my mother, and I can’t be alone so I can’t do anything.
I have nowhere to go, and no ability to deal with what is happening to me. And I feel like nobody’s listening, or if they are, they lack the ability (or wherewithal) to do anything constructive. This isn’t a sustainable system, and I’m really, really not safe. I don’t have much time left.