Waning Gibbous Rose Moon (Age: 18 Days)
Weather: Cloudy, precip. expected later
I don't feel that great right now. My head hurts kinda bad, my body is generally just stiff and uncomfortable, and my lady bits are somewhere between hating me and indifferent to our mutual existence. I'm still depressed. It has made getting things done much harder.
But, I am making the attempt. A part of me says that it is going to do no good. Another part of me wants to bitch-smack the one saying terrible pessimistic things. It's a quiet conflict that happens in my head just about all the time in the background. When I'm depressed, the part that says horrible things to me is a bit louder. (And I know I am downplaying this, but I've been writing so much about feeling awful, I'm just tired of it.)
Loki has given me work to do. I'm trying to do it. But I'm not doing very well. At least, I feel like I'm not doing very well. He, however, says the fact that I am making the attempt is what is important. (This was after a few weeks of not making the attempt and him sending a bat at my head. As in, a literal little flying bat that got in the apartment and had me shrieking 'just go away' and 'leave me alone' as it kept swooping me. It was a fiasco to get it out, and it was acting strangely by doing things like attempting to land on me and crawling across the floor - and under my front door to get back into the apartment, it was alarming.)
I am exhausted. Today was a very ... uncomfortably warm day. I did some housework and stuff, but nothing too physically demanding because of my asthma acting up. I feel like a failure because I didn't get all the things done. I am trying not to indulge in that everything or nothing way of thinking. But it keeps tripping me up. I wish I was better. I wish that the bipolar just wasn't here. I wish that I could have my life back. I was going places, I was making things happen.
And then, one of my worst depressive episodes of all my life happened while I was pregnant. Which then turned into postpartum depression with psychosis. At which point, I was hospitalized and got the diagnosis of bipolar II. It was kinda a relief to know that I wasn't 'crazy' and that there actually was something going on for all those years that I was just told that I was being 'moody' and 'lazy'. But, between the BP, my cPTSD, and what feels like a metric ton of just my brain is broken now, I feel like there's no hope for me. I get afraid when I start feeling 'too good' that I'm going to launch into a manic episode and horrible things will happen. I don't know what horrible things would happen, but I'm afraid that they will happen.
I spend a lot of time depressed or numb. I'm sick of it. I want it to stop. Somedays I fear that it will only stop if I am dead. And, for maximum fail, my migraines are worse and slowly becoming more frequent. I look around and I ask, what did I do wrong to have all this happen to me? It is not a question of 'what gods did I make angry?' as much as, 'what are the things I've done to create this situation? how can I correct it? is correcting it even possible?'
Loki tells me I am taking the wrong perspective. He's likely to be right. I am just having a hard time seeing clearly now on multiple levels. And struggling with despair. I am doing my best not to let myself get sucked into that thinking but it is getting harder daily. I am scheduled to see my psychiatrist in a little over a week. I'd go sooner but he's completely booked. I struggle with the feelings that I have some how earned divine wrath versus I am just that much of a fuck up that I made myself sick like this. Both perspectives are wrong, I logically get that. But my emotions and bad brain chemistry are insisting otherwise.
I hate this.