I'm finding it hard to breathe as of late.
Perpetually tired, though that could be the depression.
About two weeks ago my meds were upped to 20mg, two full white little pills, each morning.
The first few days I was filled will hope, I felt happier, I felt.. Okay.
However, these past few nights have been rough. I'm not sure if it's just extra shifts I've been working, or not feeling enough. But I've been having pretty intense anxiety attacks.
Softly cried last night as I went to bed at four pm. My chest pounding, the urge to cut open my arms was so overwhelming I started to shake.
Slept for 14 hours.
It's hard having a creative mind. I see all these endless possibilities for my space, to create and for my life. But I'm unable to make any of them happen. Currently the appartment is still covered in boxes. Things laying about everywhere. I'm trying the best I can to sort and reagrage so we have a living space. But it seems I'm the only one pushing for this. I do understand that he has never lived on his own, and that he doesn't have a connection with living spaces, or how they are set up. It's starting to feel like this is my apartment, and he is free loading. Don't get me wrong, he does his chores (now that I've made the chore chat) and he will clean up, if I ask. But I've always got to ask. There was a pile of towels and cleaning rags that sat in the hallways for three weeks.. I picked them up and put them away yesterday. Simple things like that.. Or dishes to be brought in.. Or the door to be locked. If I don't get up and do things, it will never be done. "Anything I can do to help?" Endless questions when I start doing any of the chores needed to be tended to, (after I get home from work) I don't mean to get short with him.. But I know he's only sat on the couch and watched Netflixs all day. It's frustrating. End rant.
I didn't harm. But I thought very hard about it. About how useless and worthless my life is. About how I get up, spend all day at work on imgur, or my phone, come home, watch tv, sleep. I miss adventures, I miss going outside, I miss doing anything. I miss art, and crafting, and sewing, and cooking, and smiling. I miss waking up and not taking pills.
I woke up and contemplated taking all of them.
Little white pills that filled my palm.
Just two.
Only two.
I lied, I never flushed my stash.
I tossed some out when I moved out of the apartment a year back, but, I still have most of them.
I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lied.
I'm useless.
