So another weekend where I feel that I did nothing. Weekends like these tend to pile up the never-ending stockpile of work. I wonder sometimes how folks with kids do it. Heck, I can’t even take care of myself how the crap am I going to take care of another human being that relies on me?
The depression is still bad. I know people don’t get it. Why I can’t just be normal like everyone else. Why I can’t just be happy. I often wonder what the point of living is. Why I go on day after day. Maybe for my husband. Maybe for my dog. I don’t care anymore. I just do. It just seems easier to live, then to have to go through a change like dying. Wow I know that’s such an incredibly shallow thought.
The thoughts are still there. I still battle them daily. I still wonder could hell be worse (I know God won’t want me). Worse than feeling completely alone and desperate. But I still trudge along, wondering when the pain is going to stop. Wondering if I even want the pain to stop. I know, a weird thought. Most people are probably thinking I’m really crazy now (well, if you weren’t already thinking it). Don’t ask me to explain it; I can’t. Even if I could, I wouldn’t.
I’m still going to counseling every two weeks. A lot of times I wish it could be more. I have to take off work though. I don’t want the boss getting mad at me. Maybe if I changed jobs to one that my boss would let me leave at 4, like my last one did, I could go back to every week. I know I need more help. More help then I can get right now. As I said before, though, I’m tired of trying. I’m tired of fighting. I just want everything to stop. At this point, I don’t care how.
I know people have stopped reading my blog. Not like I can blame them. Who wants to hear some loser complain about how rough life is, even though she has it so good? Very good, no one. I’m in this alone. I knew that a long time ago. I just thought that maybe one of those anti-depressants would help me. Apparently none did. So the only conclusion left is this is my fault. And I deserve to be alone.