I know I’ve tried to minimize my discussion of my mental health on the blog. Partly because I feel like its whining (and worse, it’s whining about something that I don’t have a good fix for, so whining it pointless). But sometimes I really need to get it off my chest and whine anyway.
I hate being so clumsy that I can fall down and break my bones. Or fall down and whack various body parts. I think some of this is due to the many medications I am on, the majority of them to treat my depression.
To Treat is the key phrase. It doesn’t cure me, and they sure as hell don’t make me feel happy. They make life a few notches above unbearable–go OD or do some cutting now, Felice. Now. Now. Now.
Which is good, I guess. I mean it works well enough to keep me from being so selfish as to kill myself and leave everyone else behind.
Oh but there are days, weeks that sometimes I feel a hairtrigger away from doing just that. Times when it feels so pointless for me schlog on and on through what feels like an endless tunnel of pain, grief, self pity, and hopelessness.
I mean, I could blog about it more often, but who’d want to read about that crap? People really just want to hear about the good stuff going on, and you get colored a bummer and a downer otherwise. I mean, not that it matters. I’ve had this blog for like, what, 3 or 4 years now, and I’ve never gotten any comments at all.