I don't even know where to start.....

I need to write. But I don't know what to say.

It feels like I am riding a gigantic high-speed coaster all alone. Screaming and begging to get off but they won't stop the ride. Over and over again. Up, down, backwards, sideways, upside down. At top speed. At ridiculous slopes. I can't do it. I can't do it anymore. I need to get off this ride. I am nauseated and exhausted. Please, please, I beg of you. Stop the ride.

Meds messes me up. Lack of meds messes me up. I just don't know anymore.

The uncertainty is bad, but I think it is the lack of control that is the worst. At 15 years of age I lost control and bipolar took the wheel. I lost control of my moods, my energy, my sanity, my diligence, my energy, my motivation, my mind, and my future. Loss of control is a disabling thing. An incapacitating thing. I have been trying to take the wheel back, but regardless of how many positive healthy things I do my mood can go at any time. Regardless of how well I'm doing, 10 minutes or 10 days later my mood could swing and ruin everything.

I have tried so hard, so many times to take back control. I'm just so tired. I'm too damn tired. The loneliness, emptiness, seclusion, and doubt are debilitating. I feel so empty I'm convinced I'm hollow. Like the next depression, mania, or anxiety attack could deflate me like one of those blow up punching clown toys that develops a leak. I feel like a punching clown. As if life, this illness, and the people who refuse to understand have beaten me senseless and left me in a heap in the corner. Like the Wicked Witch of the West, afraid that the next insult, judgment, or setback will be the water that melts me into a useless pool of nothing.

I'm tired of waiting for the bomb to drop. Tired of depending on external events and other people for my sanity, stability and happiness. Tired of this dependence allowing others the control. Control in the form of insults, judgments, rejection, and negativity that can send me into full-blown anxiety or catatonic depression.

I don't know what to do. I feel truly lost. Completely stuck.

I just know that I need to get off this ride.

Please, please I beg of you, stop the damn ride.........

If I'm being honest......

I pretend that I'm ok.

I pretend all the time.

For my family, my couple of friends, people on the street, even on Twitter.

I'm totally pretending.

Because honestly, I'm not ok. I'm not fine. I'm not even close.

I'm falling apart.

It hurts so much and I don't have the energy or strength to make it stop.



Today I laid down on the floor and wondered how long it would take to die if I just stayed there and didn't move.

I need medication. However, I make too much money for them to be covered yet not enough to buy them for myself.

I need a psychiatrist. Unfortunately there is a 12 month waiting list.

I need a therapist, but yet again I make too much to have it covered yet not enough to afford to pay for it myself.



I feel so let down. So abandoned. Forgotten. Ashamed. Worthless.

I try to be strong. I really do. I try to fight. I try to fight so hard. I just have absolutely nothing left.



Today I have no profound thoughts, nothing interesting to say, not much of anything at all.

I'm just empty.

Hollow.

Alone.

And just way too damn tired.

I'm sure I used to like myself, I know I did

But I don't anymore.

I try.

I really try to.

But I don't.

I hate me.

I really truly honestly hate me.

So I don't I don't fight for me. I don't believe in me. I don't work for me.

I self-sabotage. I doubt. I give up. I give in.

It hurts.

It hurts all the time.

I'm alone.

I'm alone all the time.

I'm so lonely I can't take it.

I did it to myself, but I can't take it.



I know when I was 7 I thought I was fantastic.

I worked hard. I worked all the time.

I had dreams.

I had goals.

I was happy.



Then the bullies came.

And the doubt came.

Then more bullies.

Then the pain came.

Then the memories came.

And everything I was or ever had been was shattered.



I cannot do this.

I hate this.

I hate this so much.

I can positive self-talk until I'm blue in the face. I don't believe it.

I can tell myself it's not my fault. I don't believe it.

I don't believe it, and I don't believe in me.



So lost. So alone. So scared. So done.

Because I told myself I would....

This morning I told myself that I wanted to write today. Since I am trying to stop breaking promises to myself, and follow through with plans/goals, however small, I am now sitting down to write.

I had a fleeting thought last night while trying to fall asleep that is the inspiration for this post. "Just how much time have I really wasted?"

Yesterday I was feeling very inspired after a fabulous day at TEDx Vancouver, but did not seem to be able to translate any of this new found mental energy into physical action. This is pretty much the story of the last ten years of my life. Periods of extreme hopeless depression, followed by wacky crazy hypomania, interspersed with time in "the middle". During these "middle ground" times I was often inspired, hopeful, or even gung-ho, but it never ever translated into action.

So this morning I woke up with the nagging question, "ok so how much time DID I really waste?"

Being the uber-nerd that I am I set out to quantify it. The numbers are both good and bad, but I think that the good outweigh the bad. Providing, that is, that I turn things around and start taking action.



So here it is:

312,974.   The number of hours I have been alive as of this moment.

388,320.   The number of hours I have left in my life if I die at the age of 80.

The good news is that my life is not even half over. It's not too late.


87,658.   The number of hours I have been away from full time work and fighting this illness.

The bad news is that that is a LOT of seemingly wasted hours as I am not much better off.


56,978.   The number of hours, up until this posting, since my brother-in-law and then Drs pulled me back from the brink after my near fatal suicide attempt. I call these, and any after, my bonus hours as it really is miraculous that I am even here. And yet I continue to waste bonus hour after bonus hour.

The good news is that I was given these bonus hours. Something in the universe worked to keep me here and give me another chance. More good news is that this number will only continue to grow.



Alright, so now what?

Most people would look at these numbers and be motivated to get moving, to make a decision, to make a start. I spent all day in my apartment suffering from what I have aptly heard called "decision paralysis", and self doubt.

I know I need to move. Somewhere. Anywhere. Unfortunately, I do not trust myself to choose the right direction or path. Most would argue that any path would be better than standing in one spot, and they would be correct. However, my issues are so ingrained that I am still unable to choose any of the 50 paths flying around in my brain. I am unable to take even one small step.

"Every journey, no matter how long, begins with a single step."

"You don't have to see the entire staircase, you just have to see the first step."

I know these things. I believe these things. And yet it still feels as if I am standing here wearing cement boots.



Now what?

I don't know.

MIA

I haven't written in a very long time.

2 reasons for this.

1. September and October were VERY hard months for me. Horrible depression. Suicidal thoughts. Too much alcohol. Too much junk food. Too many pills. Too little activity. Too little action.

2. Someone from my real life (a friend {or so I used to think}) stalked my Twitter account, found my blog and read the whole thing. This in itself felt like a violation. But then this person started using my own words against me. "oh on such and such a date you said blah, blah, blah, that must have been about me" and "oh on your blog you said you lied to your friends, that means you're a liar and I don't trust a word you say". This person then continued to use my bipolar as an attack and insult, my past as a weapon, and my words thoughts and feelings against me. This person (as of today) is no longer in my life. I vow to NEVER let them back in, or to let anyone else like them in. I deserve better.

No one ever uses a cancer diagnosis as a weapon. No one ever blames, shames, and attacks someone after their MS or Parkinson's symptoms flare up. I know I have ranted about it a thousand times, but this is one of the things that angers me more than almost anything else related to dealing with this illness.

Ignorance just pisses me off. Judgmental pricks piss me off. And even more so judgmental pricks who are absolutely clueless and know NOTHING about the topic they're spouting off about piss me off.

Good riddance to bad rubbish.

Welcome back hope.

You will see more of me soon.

I promise.

Not this....

I don't know what I want.

It's sad, but I literally have no idea.

I just know it's not this.

It's not even in the vicinity of this.

But I feel so trapped, stuck, like nothing I do would matter any way. Like even if I did know, it would be impossible to achieve, obtain, or make happen. So why bother?

And then I don't bother.

And I keep not bothering.

So another day, week, month, year passes. With me still not knowing. Still being stuck. Still being trapped. Still being nowhere near anything positive, good, or constructive.

Excuse me while I bury my face in my pillow and cry. Again.

What do I want???

Isn't that the $64,000 question?

What do I want?

I truly have no idea. None.

More than this, I know that. More activity, more excitement, more happiness, more fulfilment, more success.

But how, and at what? No clue.

I had dreams as a child, but they all seem stupid now, or it's much to late to pursue them. I have ideas now, but they all seem stupid and I constantly doubt my ability to even attempt let alone achieve them.

I want....... more

But what the hell does that even mean?

Sigh. Going back to bed. I know the answer to my $64,000 question doesn't lie in there with me, but honestly, it's the only thing I have the energy for now.