The Last Song

It is hard for me to describe the ebb and flow of depression. I know it is always there, hanging around. I can't see it, taste it, touch it, smell it, but I sure as fuck can hear it. It's my 5th and 6th sense. It screams to me as I am trying to fall asleep; not good enough, not smart enough, not pretty enough, not funny enough, not skinny enough, NOT ENOUGH. I will never be enough for it.

It wakes me at 4 AM after I do something to trigger it earlier in the day. And this week has been chock full of triggers. I had the ability to stop the collision. I chose not to. I allowed a sneaky, persistent ache to poke me over and over again with a stick. So afraid to say no. So afraid of more loss. At this point though, I don't think there is anything more to lose with this one. It's all said and done and yet it still feels like a thorn in my paw.  Every time I try to dig it out, it just goes in a little deeper.

As I am reducing my daily medication, I have to remind myself that it is all about balance. The KIT has been so grounding and helpful so I decided to boost this weekend. It will help with the shift in my brain. It's all chemicals mixed with my actions and I have resigned myself to the fact that I am still not very good at managing healthy boundaries (yet) so I have to keep my head right. 

I still can't wrap my head around how many people suffer from some sort of mental health issue. How I wake up every day hoping it won't be with me only to hear it chattering in the background on good days and screaming bloody murder on the bad ones. Is it like that for others? Do they pray every night as they are falling asleep that tomorrow it's just chatter? That's as quiet as it has ever been for me...

xoks