From a year ago:
My brain feels clogged, or stalled, or stuck in the process of shutting down. Writing the date in my journal may be the only thing that keeps me in touch with something logical and real.
I can’t motivate to do almost anything. I don’t feel like doing. I just want to quit.
I don’t see how any of this will or could get any better. My concentration and ability to function are slipping. If I have no options, will I have to adapt?
Holding onto the good is not something I do well. I wish I knew what to wish for. Today, my husband should have been celebrating a well-earned work accomplishment. Instead, he was trying to convince me that my sense of self was terribly distorted right now.
Last night, I walked the dog at night in darker and riskier places than I normally frequent. I was thinking if someone mugged and killed me that would solve several problems. In that fantasy, though, I worried about the dog being harmed. I can’t continue.
Today, I made an appointment with a psychiatrist, but I hate feeling remotely hopeful. It feels like a trick. If I get distracted or involved with something temporarily, I will still have to return to the I-hate-myself world. It is much easier to live in that world when there is no hope. If you hate yourself and what you do, then you can just hope to die, which is not a task that requires a great deal of skill or effort.
I want something. Something for me. Something that is mine. I need to know that there is something out there for people like me. What can I do? How do I pursue something without knowing what it is? What would it be if I had chosen for myself all along?