“I don’t feel good.”
I said that a bit last night. I can’t quite identify what’s wrong. I’m worn out. Very worn out. It’s been a whole week of restless sleep and busy, somewhat demanding days.
I’m crumbling. I was hoping this could be put off, be minimised, but it seems not. I don’t want to condemn myself to doom. It’s just, I know where this leads. I’ve been here before. I’m exhausted.
I don’t have anything to give to friends who are unwell themselves. I still care, that hasn’t changed but I’m all out of energy to be there for them in any other way.
This week is another busy one too – therapy today, GP and spending the night with (safe) family Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday are work, Friday is uni… Saturday and Sunday are free and I must keep them that way. I need to study though. Getting behind now just sets me up for so much more stress later on.
I want to be looked after. I wish there were people who could do that. I don’t have family who will look after me. If I was very physically unwell, then yes, but really, they don’t understand mental illness or dissociation.
I have wonderful friends that do, truly, care but few know how to help when I’m like this. To be honest, I’m not sure how they can help. I think I just need to rest… but I still need to hear from friends that they love me, care about me, that I am important. I just need to feel cared for, because that is all friends can do. Professionals on the other hand, I expect to be able to help a little.
I see my psychologist today. I’d rather not. I want to stay at home, bury my head under the covers, and pretend the world doesn’t exist. I need to see my psychologist, I know that. It’s just leaving the house is so emotionally draining and I’m running on empty right now.
I feel safe and protected in my bed. I still feel horribly overwhelmed, scared and anxious, but bed is safer than the rest of the world.
I feel like I need to cry… but the tears do not come.