Monday, 16 February 2009
I'm f*cking low again.
I want to cry right now. I've been crying for the majority of the last 24 hours, but now I actually want to, I have a reason to. I want to scream too, and stamp my feet, and maybe curl up defeated and exhausted. I'm going downhill again, fast, and I can't afford to get ill now. I'm on the verge of being discharged from the mental health teams, and I'm nearing the end of my first year, and now I'm fantasising about suicide and unable to stop this constant weeping. I'm grasping at straws, making unsuitable decisions [it's only the knowledge of this, and the therefore obsessive caution I have adopted which stopped me from renting a flat today]. I should have realised that I was getting worse, instead of being overwhelmed with grief and guilt on Sunday night. I'd been somewhat dispondant, flat even, over the weekend, but I put that down to knowing I had to come back to London and Boyfriend had to stay at university, but now I'm totally deflated. I wandered round the shops, killing time until the bus came after seeing the flat, and I felt so unbearably numb. I'm concerned because this numbness tends to precede a slashy-slashy incident, and I have 112.5 hours of work placement to complete within the next two weeks. I can't afford to be ill. I need help, but I don't know if there is anything to help me if I'm like this. I want to change things, anything so I don't feel agitated and yet numb simultaneously, but I also barely have the energy to get out of bed let alone take an interest in doing anything. I'm finally feeling emotion related to my Nan's death but I didn't want it like this; delayed, agressive and set off by anything. I'm breaking out in those awful cold sweats, I can't sleep at night but I'm dead to the world during the day, and my legs feel like they've been dipped in cement. I don't know how to explain this to work, again, and accept the fact that maybe I can't ever have a proper career, because I will always be bouncing between ill and almost well.