Waning Corn Moon (Age: 17 Days)
Weather: Sultry, sunny, and still air
Dear Sly One,
It has been difficult to write to you. I get anxious that what I have to say will annoy you or otherwise displease you. I have been working on the off-line journal, but that has been difficult too. I know that I need to get a better sense of my value. I know that I need to stop perseverating on all the things that could go wrong and just do it. It has been terribly hard to do it, though. My problems sleeping have returned. My anxiety is going up again. I know that this is the beginning of the bad time of year for me. I'm so angry, honestly, with the fact that it is happening again. I had this idea that with the right medications, I would be 'normal' and not have this disability.
I am getting to the point where I don't want to go out of the house again. I've been forcing myself to do it. The boys and I were at the park pretty much all day today and most of the day yesterday. My therapist says that isolating myself is a habitual thing and if I break the habit socializing wouldn't be so hard. I am attempting to just be physically in a location where I might interact with people. It is becoming hard to do. I just find myself wanting to hide from everyone and everything until this sense that I am awful will pass.
I have been forcing myself to work on my writing more. A part of me says I should give up on all this. It says that the lack of response from readers is a sign that what I'm writing is pretty much worthless. It says that I will never amount to anything with my writing and that it is a childish dream that has gone too far. I battle that voice in my head every day. I am hoping that writing in my therapy journal on a daily basis will help me process what ever is behind that horrible self talk.
I know that you know what I'm struggling with. I know that you want to help me. And that you do, often when I don't have the presence of mind to ask for it. I still feel like this struggle is a sign that I am defective and that someone stronger wouldn't have these mood swings or anxiety. I'm pretty sure that is the fruit of how I was raised and how society treats mental illness. I don't like it. I try to keep it out of my thoughts but when I'm feeling like this, I just can't shake it.
I'm sorry. I don't know what I am apologizing for but I feel like I need to. So, I apologize. I love you Loki. I want to see you happy and prosperous. I don't want to hold you back from your joy. You've had so much sorrow. I want to give you greater joy to balance out all of the grief. I am, however, not feeling up to the task. I feel little, worthless, and hurt. I'm working on it with my therapist but I doubt how much it helps. I've been in therapy for the better part of 20 years. Wouldn't I have resolved some of this by now?