I cant handle this anymore.

FUCK.




It's been a constant struggle lately - the past two weeks or so. I'm constantly afraid, on edge and so very anxious. I keep seeing myself dying in a myriad of ways, or being found dead. Or ways I could facilitate my death. Recently I see Matt doing terrible things. Impossible, terrible scenarios as I walk through the fucking parking lot at wal-mart. AT WAL-MART. I was seriously just going for a quick errand.

Every, fucking. day.

I'm so tired.

I have no plans to up and die, and I tell myself daily, "You're not dying today." "You're ok. the girls are ok. Matt is ok." "He'd never hurt you or the girls." "If you do this, you'll hurt everyone. Everyone will be so sad." "If you lash out, you could seriously hurt someone, you need to breathe." "No."

I'm so tired of it. I feel so agitated. I was doing so well. The meds seemed to be working. The weed was working.

The weed works if I want to do absolutely nothing but let my house fester and clutter up. The children are allowed to run rampant, because I'm unable to get the energy to do shit. It's so easy to let the TV keep River happy while I fiddle about on my computer. In my heart I know I can do better, but why bother?

I take two melatonin and a sleepy tea at night. I can't fall asleep. Sometimes I lay awake for a while. Fucking hallucinating. Whispering to myself that constant refrain - "you're ok. nothing bad will happen"
What the *fuck* is going on.

I don't feel specifically manic or depressed. I don't feel like I'm cycling, I'm just. I'm just constantly scared. I want to throw myself in to projects, but stop myself - because what if I AM manic? Some new thing to fizzle out on and be left to collect dust. Another project with the girls that I flake out on doing -  Again. Why bother?

The med provider said, 'Try to meditate'. How do you fucking meditate when your body screams at you that you're on the verge of DYING constantly, that you're always in a state of fear. I just want to have that taste of stability again.

I was feeling so good, and its gone. Like I was never medicated. Just gone. Both she and the therapist say, "You have so much on your plate, maybe you can have your husband help you more."

HES GONE FROM 4AM TO 630-8PM HE CANT. He's spread so thin, what the fuck is he supposed to do? When he is home, we scramble to keep a grip on hobbies or free time, and the kids. and the bills. and the budget. Kiddos Scouts. Our mental health. I work so hard to help support him and his journey in this hellscape of doctors. I feel like I'm the bad guy for trying to stand up for myself.

I'm so worried after him, his work, his health. I wish I could tell him.

I'm so scared. I'll call the med provider tomorrow.