I'm so frustrated right now, I can't even express myself. Lucky how that makes me even more frustrated. I stop to wonder if I've fucked up my meds, if I'm getting enough sleep, if there is something on my mind that is getting me worked up beneath the surface. No, mostly and probably. Doesn't help. Doesn't matter. Doesn't change anything.
The thing that gets me worried is when I start to wonder why I bother. Hoping. Trying. Living. Living. That scares me. Because it was supposed to be the depression. It was supposed to be the shit in my past. It was supposed to be the lack of love, the inability to love myself. But I'm past all that now and it still slips in from time to time.
Will it always be that way? Probably. Life is fucking hard. Life is so fucking hard. Sometimes I allow myself a little fantasy of turning it off. Then I shed a few tears and get back at it.
How many times have I said this? I need to get out. I need to move, to run, to jump, to vent and to let go. It's the bottling that causes the problems. Sure I try to talk about it or write about it but I can't get it out and, even if I could, there's no one in my life who would understand it. There is no one in my life who wants to hear it.
When I'm alone I let myself cry it out but that's not always an option. The fact that I'm here, writing this with tears streaming down my face while Jeff sits on the couch playing video games says a lot. But it's not enough. It's not working. I know what will work. Why can't I just fucking do it? Why can't I just fucking get up?
Get up motherfucker! Get. Up.
