So, I counted. Ten appointments in the last four weeks. Ten. It’s nothing short from a miracle that I’m still here and functioning at all. Apparently I’m really good at pretending everything is okay, because I keep running into the issue that I feel people don’t believe I’m really sick, despite the paperwork that says otherwise from two different therapists. You’ve no idea how tiring it is to try and convince people over and over again that you’re not fit to function in society unless you’ve been there yourself. (Does that sound elitist? It probably sounds elitist.)
I wish I didn’t have to go through all of this. My boyfriend’s miserable on deployment, I’m miserable trying to sort out my life, and not having him around for the majority of the day is wearing me down so thin it sometimes gets hard to breathe. I’ve had trouble sleeping because I keep analyzing and replaying my appointments, wondering if I fucked up, wondering if I did something so terrible it will undo all the effort I put into all the ongoing processes so far.
I know it’s probably fine, but I can’t get my brain to shut up.
I keep falling into random bouts of crying, especially during appointments. It’s annoying and stressful on its own. Crying takes away precious energy that I don’t have, but I can’t stop it.
In the back of my mind I keep wondering if I’m heading back towards the place where I stopped going outside because I was afraid I’d throw myself in front of a car in a moment of weakness. It sure feels that way. I hope I can get a hold of a therapist soon again because wherever I’m going, it’s the wrong way.