Blech.

I hate anxiety. Have I ever mentioned that before? Because I do. I really, seriously hate it. I've been a complete mess these last few weeks. Total, crazy mess. It's like some depression creeps in and then anxiety jumps in and makes me do crazy person brain aerobics - paranoia, self-loathing, hurt, fear. Stupid crazy people stuff. Depression needs a new best friend because anxiety is a stupid jackass.

I've been teetering on the edge of self-harm for the better part of a week now. Doing my best to resist the temptation and so far succeeding - if you could really call it success. Because when things get like this, I can't focus on anything. I'm anxious and fidgety and all I can think about is how cutting would "fix" it. Of course, though it would make the here and now more tolerable, it's certainly hard to call something that pushes me down the road to suicidality a "fix." But from this chair where I sit right now, it seems like a "fix." That's why the temptation is so strong. There no way to fix this feeling. There just isn't. I know that. Maybe that's where the feeling of emptiness and hopelessness comes from. Maybe.

Maybe it's because I've had the conversation below a few too many times, and it makes me realize how little people actually get it.

Me: "I'm really struggling today. I don't know how to deal with everything."

Captain Obvious: "Have you tried, you know, NOT being depressed?"

Me: "Holy shit! I can't believe that never even occurred to me! Fuck, maybe if I throw in a few happy thoughts, I could conquer the world!"

Captain Obvious: <confused look>

Me: <eyeroll>

For the love of all that is holy, don't make me have that conversation again. Just don't. It amazes me that people think it's as easy as snapping out of it and thinking happy thoughts and that those of us still struggling must want this for ourselves. I'm not sure I even how to respond to that. Except to say "bless your heart"...which I've determined is pretty much the Texas version of "go to hell".

At any rate, I'm trying to reason with myself and it's not really working all that all right now. Logically I know that self-harm isn't going to be helpful long term. But logically I also know that it IS helpful short term. As much as that seems freakish and weird and backwards to "normal" people, it's the truth. It's one of few things that my therapist, psychiatrist and I can all agree on. So the very same logic that I'm trying to use to remind myself that it'll just delay the inevitable crash is the same logic that's reminding me that it WILL help me get through the day...and that's unfortunate. Sometimes knowledge and experience sucks. Sure, there are other coping skills. There are. And right now, I kind of suck at all of them. I get it - I might not always suck at them and that's fabulous. But I suck at them now and the prospect of having a useful coping skill in the years isn't really going to help me right now.

And yeah, suicide isn't going to "fix" anything...except that I wouldn't have to deal with any of it anymore. And that kind of is a solution, whether anyone wants to admit it or not. I'm not saying it's a great solution, but if the problem is that I'm anxious and depressed then killing myself would sure as hell take care of that. Not that it's a rock solid solution or anything. I do realize that, certainly. But there is a certain logic to it. And I get the whole "permanent solution to a temporary problem" thing, but when you're talking to someone who's been fighting this for the vast majority of their life, your words kind of fall on deaf ears...and they kind of make me want to scream. As a disclaimer, I'm not going to do anything crazy. I'm just letting my thoughts get away from me. This is what it's like to be in my head.

When I look at the scars on my arms and legs, all I can think about right now is how I want to add to them. About how I somehow deserve to have then added to. Because I'm not enough. I'm not. Not smart enough. Not pretty enough. Not maternal enough. Not nice enough. Not "girly" enough. Not thin enough. Not interesting enough. Not good enough. Just...not enough. At all. And I struggle to believe that I ever will be any of these things to anyone.

My therapist wanted me to try traditional meditation to try to get a handle on my runaway thoughts, but I'm apparently the only person on the planet for whom meditation actually increases anxiety. It actually triggered full blown anxiety attacks. Awesome, right? I'm pretty far gone. And honestly I'm not sure I have really recovered from those anxiety attacks this week. I don't think people who have never experienced a true anxiety disorder really understand how freaking exhausting it is. It'll run you into the ground. And it hurts. I mean actually, physically hurts.

But I'm thankful that the week is winding down. It'll no doubt be another crazy weekend with the kids but I'll get through it.