I know, Tuesday post, WEIRD. I just had to get some catharsis before my brain implodes.

I’ve got a new supervisor at work. She’s the much-beloved supervisor of another team, switching to take over ACT, so I know her, but she’s very no-nonsense and doesn’t sugarcoat ANYTHING EVER. (I was trying to be diplomatic and said “She can be… abrasive.” My coworker retorted “like a cheese grater.” I think it’s fairly apt.) I do like her and I’m excited about the changes for the better, and hopefully dramatically improved morale, which should help me stabilize a bit.

But oh, how hard it is for me to cope with changes, good, bad or indifferent. So after announcing a bunch of changes during team this morning (and getting screwed out of the crisis phone this week which was AWESOME, I didn’t need to pay any bills anyway…) I ended up crying in a coworker’s office midday after having a delightful little panic attack, and then when out in the field, a client completely freaked out on me. For the record? Lunging at me and screaming “FUCK YOU I’M NOT YELLING AT YOU” is, in fact, yelling at me, and makes me question my safety. I have never thrown someone out of my car that fast in my life. He was so angry it wasn’t completely stopped yet as he got out, but as he a) is bigger than me, b) was pissed off, and c) has a couple domestic violence and assaults on his record, there was no way in hell I was staying in the confines of a Ford Focus with him for longer than .2 seconds. I went into my fight-or-flight mode, which is flight and numbness, and managed to finish the day, though I was shaky. I reported what happened to my supervisor and teammates, and went home at 4:40, exactly eight hours after I arrived. I cried the whole way home and if it weren’t for cartoons on the internet, I would’ve cried all night. As it is, I’m only crying now, as more of the distress from earlier comes back.

I’m just so tired of fighting. I’ve spent more of my life medicated than not, I’ve been symptomatic for at least 23 years by my last count (I remember symptoms going back to about age five) and no matter how hard I try, what I do, how I cope, I continue to stumble. I’ve been in a recurring downswing for a steady six months. I have a few good days and then BAM. I’ve changed meds, I’ve changed habits, I’ve changed sleeping patterns, I’ve done EVERYTHING RIGHT and it just isn’t enough. With a chronic illness, it’s never going to be enough; the shoe will always drop, the floor will always fall out from under me, the depression will always come back. Frankly, I’m surprised I’ve almost lived to 29, considering how miserable I’ve been oh, forever. Is life worth living for those few shining moments here and there, when the rest of the time I hate myself? Is it worth living isolated, unable to do much during the week to avoid getting manic and missing work, and unable to do too much in a day over the weekend or I’ll be emotionally exhausted for days? Is this really worth it?

I’m so tired.


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