I’ve been listening to music and trying to wind down and just when I want to crash, damn anxiety pain hits me. My foot is berserk right now because I put some lotion on it. Had to. It was white as a ghost. My right foot is the same but I am too tired to rub lotion on it. I will in the morning.
I spent the day sleeping. I just could not get up. Exhaustion weighed so heavy on me my soul could feel it. I had a cold cut sandwich and it was all I ate. I had an Ensure but that didn’t help the hunger. I am too lazy to go downstairs to make something to eat. I tried but I just can’t get the energy to leave my room.
Voices are quiet tonight. I am just agitated and can’t seem to settle down. I took 8mg of perphenazine. That wiped out the voices but not the agitation. I hate feeling perturbed. It is so uncomfortable. I sent my therapist the date I plan on ending things again. I don’t know why I did that. It is tentative at best. I’m probably going to get in trouble for it.
I don’t think they understand what a struggle it is to live. If they did, I think they would understand why I want to die so badly. I am so tired of living. I am 44 and feel like a bad of shit. How did I get to be this age? I was supposed to die when I was 19 and yet I am still here. WTF. Nothing is different than what it was back then and now. My fault. Everything is. I am to blame. We control our destinies don’t we? Isn’t that what they say? See I would pick my half birthday but there are two people I love that were born on that day so I want to keep it happy for them so I chose another day.
I am just a suicidal writer. Psychotic at times. Depressed always. Maybe depressed isn’t the word. Melancholic maybe better termed to describe the horrible despair. The lifelessness. Is it worth living? I don’t feel I deserve to live.
“To be sure, I appear at times merry and in good heart, talk too before others quite reasonably, and it looks as if I felt to. God knows how well within my skin. Yet the soul maintains its deathly sleep and the heart bleeds a thousand wounds.” Hugo Wolf