Tag: suicide

Feeling low again

I knew the good feelings that I had this morning were not going to last. I am crashing and it’s not fun. I don’t think it was hypomanic stuff because that usually last more than a few hours. I really think this is the crash that I never had when I was hypomanic. I don’t feel suicidal, but I would welcome death. I just want a cessation of feelings.

I am really full from all that I ate. I was so full from real food that I didn’t have dessert. There was no room for it. My mother made five pies and no one touched two of them. So the chocolate cream pie and custard are all mine. Those are the two that I love. I didn’t have the pumpkin pie my sister made. I really wanted to try it but I was afraid my stomach would bust if I did.

Now I am in my room and I am feeling like scum of the earth. It wouldn’t be a holiday without my father ragging on me for something. Apparently, I was supposed to bring the wine directly to my sister’s house, that day. He didn’t tell me this. I just assumed today would be fine. Plus, I had no idea if she would be home or not. I got very annoyed. I still am annoyed because I don’t get what the big fucking deal was. It wasn’t like the wine was going to go bad. It wasn’t opened, it wasn’t refrigerated when he gave it to me, and there was no indication to me that my sister was expecting the wine. He just likes making a big deal over nothing. Pisses me off. So that started the day. Now I want something stronger than wine to drink. Think I will have some Honey Whiskey before bed. Screw the drug interactions. I really don’t care. A shot or two won’t hurt.

I still am in awe that my therapist suggested that I do something with my blog that I wrote the other day. I still think it’s a work in progress though it will be going in my book. I don’t think I can publish it anywhere else. Even if I could publish it elsewhere, the NYT experience was something else. I don’t think I can do it again. I give credit to Kay Redfield Jamison. She can write and be successful. I am sure she has dealt with the negative stuff, too. But the difference is, I don’t remember what the hell I wrote the other night. I know it was a “successful” blog because there were a lot of hits on my stats and a blogger friend reposted it on her blog, so that generated more hits (thank you for that). All I do remember writing is the part where I am questioning whether my therapist is going to respond to a text I wrote her. That is the only thing that I remember from it. My blogger friend wrote that it was a description of depression. Someone else wrote that it was something that they couldn’t put into words. I suppose I should read it over one of these days. I think I will combine it with the blog I wrote on what it is like being suicidal. Those two will give me enough wordage for a chapter.

I wonder how many people with depression often feel dead inside. Another blogger friend was writing this tonight and it got me thinking. I often feel this way, but it’s more an emptiness than a dead feeling. But the words can be interchangeable, emptiness and dead. You just feel like nothing and that you rather be dead than alive. Or you feel more dead than alive, whatever that is. I have no idea what is meant by “being alive”. I don’t think I ever felt that way. Maybe when I was hypo, but that was feeling really good. That I remember like it was yesterday, even though it was months ago. I don’t know if it was the same as feeling “alive” but I know that it was better than feeling what I am feeling now, like shit.