I haven't written much, lately.
Life has been surprisingly mellow until very recently, and still, the turmoil is all inside of me. Nothing outside my mind and my soul...
I am blessed. Lucky.
And yet I can barely function.
I am going through the laborious task of weaning off of xanax. Comparatively, as difficult to quit as crack. And more dangerous than any other withdrawal. You can die, if you try to go cold turkey.
2 months in, I am down to 1/3rd of my highest dosage. That's huge, really.... everything I've researched assured that 18 months is an optimistic estimate for weaning off this drug.
But I am in hell.
I can't sleep at night. I sometimes can't help but sleep during the day. I am falling behind in every aspect of life. And without the cushion of the antidote to the anxiety that has accompanied me since I was 3 yrs old... I find myself .. frightened. Unsure. Disappointed.
Because I think about where I could've been right now, if I hadn't failed, continually, constantly. If I hadn't given up on everything, every day.
I am 28 yrs old, and I don't have a paying job. I have, through my insecurities and weaknesses, lost many people whom I was very passionate about. Lost opportunities that could have saved me.
Lost the ability to be what my children need. To give them what they deserve.
There is no worse feeling than looking at the people you love the most, and knowing that you have let them down. Knowing that you COULD HAVE done better, could have given them what they needed. And trying to think about how to do that in the future, you simply feel helpless. Paralyzed. Useless.
Knowing that you are on the speed train to destroying all the good that you DO have....
Every little victory I've had seems like nothing in this moment. It seems like a lifetime of work for no reward. Actually, for a negative benefit.
It's even harder to know you've given your all and it wasn't enough, than to know you didn't give your all.
It's horrifying to know that your all is 1/100th of most people's half-assed effort.
All I've wanted, all my life, is to be passionate about my life and to bring happiness to others.
Instead I observe the destruction that I have left behind me. I struggle to repair the cracks in my relationships. I fight the tears, nightly, that come unbidden as a result of the losses I have suffered merely because of my inherent personality.
I just want to be enough.
I don't care if I'm epic. Amazing. Famous. Rich. Successful...
I just want to be enough, for fuck's sake.. just enough.
If anyone's ever wondered how someone could want to take their own life, this post is a testament...
When you know what your potential should be, but you can barely step foot out of bed in the morning... it's very hard to see the point in continuing on.
PS, I can't afford therapy right now. Sorry.
