I’m sinking again.
It keeps happening, and I feel powerless to stop it.
Which is ridiculous, because even in my darkest times I know that there are things I can do to change my situation, my life, even these feelings. I know what I should do. I think about it all the time. It’s not just the things or details of my life that need changing. It’s my brain. It’s the way I think about things, think about myself, think about my life. I truly believe that I am unhappy because of something in my brain chemistry. There is something wrong there, and it needs to be fixed.
I need psychiatry.
It helped last time. What was it, two years ago? I was part of a study at the university for women with anxiety. I went to weekly therapy sessions, and it was wonderful. It wasn’t a cure for whatever the hell is wrong with me, but it was certainly better than just sitting around complaining about my life and diving deeper into this evil depression.
I need help. But now I also need help to get the help I know I need. I’ve let too many days weeks months go by without making the phone call to schedule a session with…someone.
And I’m pretty certain my friends (who am I kidding? friend.) are sick of hearing me whine about my pathetic life. They (again, kidding. she.) are probably contemplating not even being my friend because it’s so goddamn depressing.
Even I find myself depressing. I can’t even think about my life without bursting into tears. In the middle of work. At the grocery store. Late at night when I’m all alone. Or even sometimes when T is snoring lightly beside me.
Like I said, I’m sinking. Deeper and deeper. No matter what changes come about in my life – changed jobs, divorced J, took a class – I am still ultimately and utterly depressed.
I need help.
And now it’s time to make the call to get that lifejacket.
Update as of 11:07pm: I did it. I made the call. I took the first step. And it feels pretty good. Thank you for your support.