Neverending

There's a stretch of marshland near my house Danny and I refer to as the Swamp of Sadness. It really looks like it could swallow you whole if you were to walk unhappily through it.
This has me reflecting on The Neverending Story, one of the best movies ever, and how the swamp of sadness scene really hits home.
A couple years ago I wouldv'e been Artax. Slowly sinking as the muck rose around me. Depressed and hopeless with no future in sight. I almost sank. I got damn near close. I'd say ears deep in muds of misery.
Then there was Danny. And family. They were like Atreyu, pulling and screaming at me as I sank further, wishing me out of the sadness. In the movie, Artax inevitably sinks and succumbs to the swamps. I, on the other hand, pushed through the depths of the sadness and failed to sink regardless of how much I may have yearned for sinking.
Today, I still live in the Swamp of Sadness. Though I failed to be swallowed, I still remain there.
Now, I am Morla. Wisest in all of Fantasia. Sitting silently with myself in the Swamp of Sadness, not caring much about anything. In the movie Morla has some lines I can relate all to closely with:
'We don't care whether or not we care'
 'Die? Now that at least would be something.'

So there's that, my life retold as the Neverending Story. Where once I was the brave and then fallen Artax, now I am the wise and uncaring Morla, wasting my days away in the muck of the swamp of sadness.

Volunteering

I have been on disability almost two years now.
I have attempted to work twice? since starting. It didnt work out either time.
Last year, when I started to feel a little less depressed than I had been, I started to notice a little cabin fever going on. Don't get me wrong, I can spend weeks in bed watching Law and Order SVU, but I got to the point where that wasn't doing much for me. Not showering, eating and drinking in bed, leaving to only go to the bathroom..it all was making me worse. On a clear day, I noticed this and started thinking on what I could do to make myself feel a little more productive.
Something other than getting a job and having to commit to 30 or 40 hours a week and a schedule I can't control.
I thought about my interests. The interests I have on good days, when I find anything interesting.
I googled organizations and clubs in my area that had to do with said interests.
I found Reading Partners, an organization that works with elementary school children on their reading.
I started volunteering twice a week with them for 45 minute sessions.

This has made all the difference.
Feeling accomplished and successful at something made me feel much better.
On the days I volunteered, my mood would be better.
I won't lie, there's days I just can't go. I can't see myself out of the bed. On those days, I accept things and stay home.
It happens.
But I can't recommend enough the duty of volunteering.

I'm not completely broken down. I can still be involved in life. Everything is not just passing me by.

A good ride in the car. Time to listen to the radio. Reading with a child for 45 minutes.
This makes a day brighten.

Go out and volunteer. It helps.


And always on a good day...

Electric

First blogging experience so I'm sure this will come out fucked in some way.

Here we go...

I didn't sleep one night last week. Recipe for disaster. Not long after the sun rises and Danny has left for work, leaving me naked in the bed alone. I start to feel it. Inside, out on my skin. ELECTRIC! I can feel lightning in every nerve of my body. I am truly alive. And the lightning is painful. Every soft touch sends electric storms running through me. I have hit the roadblock. From this moment on, until I finally sleep, things are going to go badly. 

Hey, I can handle this. Been here before. Hell, I've missed sleep for three days before (we'll save the details on those days for later). Why can't I make it through this day?

Hey man, if it were that easy I'd never sleep. I feel alive at 4 in the morning. Alone. My thoughts to cuddle with. But fuck, TODAY and this ELECTRIC thrum ravaging me. I know I've got a day ahead of me. I walk to get something to drink. I've got that late-night no sleep dry throat thing going.

EVERY STEP VIBRATES MY LIMBS. DOWN TOMY CORE. Get a drink. Fuck it, I'm not leaving this bed today. Here I am safe. Here I can maintain control over whatever may happen. 

But I know it already. I know my body. I know what these sensations mean.

I'm going to be sick. Headsick.

Sick in the head.

However you wanna spell it out. No sleep equals a ride on the crazy train. Show clowns and all.

I start off strong. I've got a fort made in my bed. I'm planning out emergency procedures in case things get really real and I go dark.

This is so easy. One night. That's all it took to get me here. Fucking Trazadone. It ain't worth a shit. Hell, I'd eat the whole bottle if it'd put me to sleep. I fantasize going out like that. 'Kayla wanted so badly to sleep she ate a bottle of pills. Well, she sleeps forever now.' 

Law and Order SVU. Yeah, I'm unstable right now. Vulnerable as all get out. Its a thin line between being uncomfortable and spilling blood. Thin. In spite of this, rather than be smart and watch a comedy (Adam Sandler or some shit) I'm going to watch this messed up show which focuses on all things that make me anxious. Rapists in your bedroom? Sure! Mother who fries her son's hand in kitchen grease? Sure! This is oh so therapeutic. 

But I . just. can't. help. it.

I feed off the darkness. I'm comfortable with the unsettling things. 

Makes me feel like I'm sitting in my own head. Maybe inside my head is worse. I could write something truly horrific for Olivia Benson, Detective Munch and my man Ice T to deal with.

Time goes by. I've already convinced myself that if I fall asleep now, in the daytime, come tonight I won't be able to sleep again. Makes sense.

But I can't help wondering....not trusting myself..do I want to stay up just to see where this goes? Do I want to be sick? 

It's been awhile, things have been okay, do I miss my sick self? Am I sabotaging my 'recovery', my ability to live somewhat on the side of stable...just for my own entertainment's sake?I'm my own clown. Watch as I fall. Take notes on how it goes so I can belittle myself later.

This is all getting to be a bit much over just a little lost sleep.

This shit is real. This is huge to me. It feels as if this is the great battle of my life- making it through this day. 

Isn't that what they teach you at the hospital? In therapy? 

Fuck what are they called. Things that make you vulnerable. Warning signs.

They always say SLEEP. Get enough sleep and stay sane.

Fuck.I should've tried harder to sleep.

My day moved about as fast as this post.

Not very.

Mom's in the living room. This is why i miss living alone. Here I am, wrapped up in my selfish,self-centered, self-loathing bubble and I've got to step outside this. This which is in a way comforting to me. These feelings are recognizable. I understand my brain better when its all fucked.

But I still love. And I know mom will be worried about me. Can't let her see me breaking. Can't afford to worry my go-to

reason for living.

(It is: my mom. Her life has kept me engaged in my own. But oh! The freedom

 to let it all take over once she's dead.)

I'll go try and eat something and sit with her. 

I do just that. Lo and behold! she just happens to be watching a movie which so convienently happens to be at probably the most triggering scene for me.

Cut to awkward feeling when drunk dad makes a speech. Cut to suicide.

My tears are in my throat now. Soggy bread.

I'm outta there. Lightning quick.

She knows I'm not doing well now. Great.

I return to the darkness. The safety. Law and Order SVU. Body full of electric pulsing that just won't go away. DO OTHER PEOPLE FEELTHIS?Is this just a symptom I have when my mental health is being put on trial?Its surreal. It doesn't make sense to me. Am I feeling this pulsing? This tingling? 

I'd love to know others feel it too. 

I spend the day with a pact to be strong. Be the strongest little sad girl that ever lived. AM I NOT A BADASS? Now is time to be that badass. But man its hard. Every fucking thing is making me cry. I'm thinking the most fucked up things I can to feel myself cry. Or rather, to feel how strong I feel when I don't cry. Let's play a game. Try anything to make me cry. I get points for facing the dark sick Kayla. 

I only sob once. Into a pillow.

That's when I break down and text Danny. I need help now. All games aside, this is starting to get bleak and if I've learned one thing its to be sensible enough to pull my head out of my sick ass and ASK FOR HELP.

I am making so many social workers proud right now. Look at me! Reaching out!

Of course then Im all guilt. 'Look what you do to other people with your sickness'. 'You married this poor man and now he has to take care of your sorry ass.' This is all stuff for later.

I eventually slept. On a borrowed Seroquel.

First blog entry. MAN I feel good now that all that stuff isn't sitting in my head anymore. Don't know if I'll tell Danny or my therapist I started a blog. Maybe I'll share. 

This entry is all to relevant and important for me to look over right now.

It's 4:58AM. and I haven't slept.

To be continued...