Why is today so damn difficult?
I am alone. I feel alone. I feel like disappearing. What do I do for anyone?
This is me. Nearing my worst.
It hurts. It all hurts. Everything.
We watched "The Fisher King" a few nights ago.
I had never seen it.
And quite frankly, any movie even touching upon mental illness triggers me. I freeze. I flash back. Tears build in my eyes but rarely fall. I become flush, and bury my face with my hair.
If you haven't seen "The Fisher King,"--well, I don't think I'm spoiling anything, but I may, so stop here.
Robin Williams character is in a catatonic state for a bit.
Have I even been open to anyone about how B regressed into a catatonic state, and I would be holding baby C, nudging him from one room to another, just so he could curl up in a fetal position and be unresponsive? Have I mentioned how goddamn tempting it was to hit him? I don't consider myself violent, but the desperation of "If I slap you, you'll come to your senses"--when you've tried everything else--is awfully tempting. And I hate I even had those thoughts.
I am a very bad person for that. I should know better from my own time getting lost in the semi psychosis of anorexia. How can you feel "great" when you're BMI is under 15? It's biologically impossible, unless...
Anyway. Here I am. By myself tonight. I suppose it wouldn't make a difference if A was here or not. He's in, asleep in E's room. He stayed up 'til 2 or so last night.
I don't know what's wrong with me. Or the situation. I see a therapist once a week, and that helps. But sometimes you have to really examine the wound and dig at it for it to heal. And maybe that's what I'm doing.
Goddammit, I think to much. I need to work on a paper I'm co-writing with a tenured prof on friendship. I need to reread Turing and Godel and the soothing neatness of their proofs.
I just really need to not be me. Or at least, not think about me. Because I really, really am not like me.
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