Lost hope

This is hard...but, I've been struggling with depression for several months now. It started slowly, insidiously; sneaking up on me. Little forays into my happiness, striking at my self-confidence and laughing at my hopes.

I am happy.
Happy.
But...you don't deserve to be happy.
Why not?
Because.

The sun is shining and I am embracing it, twirling around.
My heart soars
Life has never been better.
I can do anything.
Anything.

I have finally become free...

That is what you think.
Icy streams surrounding me
Slowly choking out the happiness
Blackness filling my days

But....I was happy.

For weeks, I've struggled with everything.
First, eating. I'll either not eat, or not eat healthily.
It is if I don't deserve full nutrition, full recovery.
I don't want to always think about food.
Guilt.
Shame.
Aggravation.
FAT.
It is weird. Sometimes I can eat without free.
But then FEAR comes roaring back.
Each.and.every.time

Then there is this thing called life.
Cleaning. Laundry. Bills. Answering e-mails. Grocery shopping. Talking to people. Calling family. Visiting. Attending church. Volunteer work.....
AHHHH!!!
I can't do this.

So I stay up until 2, 3, 4 a.m.
Too afraid to got to bed.
Mindlessly wandering the Internet.
No thoughts.
It feels like a binge.
A binge of the online world.
Designed to cross-circute my emotions.

Emotions?
Do I even have any?
Why can't I cry?

Oh, I will sometimes squeeze out a few hypocritical tears.
Look, I am crying. I feel sad. I feel...
Numbness.

So I isolate.
This passive-agressive approach to life at full-tilt.
My cell phone voicemail full.
A week's worth of mail stuffed inside the mailbox.
Does the mailman think I'm dead?
Does he even notice?

Days sat huddling in my house,
I am embarrassed to be in my nightgown at 2, 3 in the afternoon.
I wish I had a drink.
Or two.
Or three...
Then I could oh-so-fashionbly sip my glass(es) of wine while twirling said nightgown.
I wouldn't be a loser, then.
Instead, I could say that something important kept me up and by God I deserved to sleep until noon, 1, 2 p.m.!
And the wine would seductively slide down my throat.

I sometimes miss starving.
The feelings of emptiness.
Dizziness.
Heart racing.
Sick, isn't it.

Sometimes I think if one more person tells me I look good, I'm going to fucking scream.
Look good=you're fat
I mean, does anyone ever ask someone if she has gained weight?

I sit, hopeless, in front of my computer.
Too scared to move.
Frozen.
I want to throw myself on my knees and beg God to take this feeling away, take it all away and open me to new life.

A life that is tantalizingly out of reach.
My fingers hovering, trying to grasp it before it falls apart.

Love
Worthwhile work
Friends
Family
Laughter

I feel unworthy. Lonely. Full of hopelessness.
I admitted that to my psychiatrist the other day (of course after he already called me out on it.)

I feel as if my dreams have fallen apart.
Damn it, I'll just admit it — I am envious of women whose spouses have stood by them, whose husbands cherish and love them...till death do they part.
Husbands who have KEPT their vows, who believe that the words meant something, not just to be thrown away like so much trash, like scrapping gum off of the bottom of a shoe.

What is wrong with me???
Why can't I inspire that kind of devotion?

Will love ever be a part of my life again?
Romantic love, I mean.

And...will laughter and happiness and fulfillment and all the hopes and dreams that threaten to bubble up and overwhelm me ever become part of my life?

In the meantime, my world continues to crash around me. Dishes are again piled in the sink. Laundry is half-done. The upstairs needs to be vacuumed. Three weeks worth of garbage sit in the garage. There are piles everywhere.
I mean, where does this crap come from, anyway??? Is there a clutter fairy who drops off junk at my house at an alarming rate?
Books. Books everywhere.
I mean, I love books. But I don't love tripping over them every five seconds.
Bottles of nail polish on my desk, clothes piled on the dryer, threatening to topple. The spare bedroom crammed with an overturned Christmas tree, complete with bulbs still attached.
My bicycle remains untouched, my bow and arrow no longer getting any practice time.
Months worth of vestry minutes untyped.
You get the picture.

Then, I sleep until 10:30 a.m. on Friday. The day I need to drive more than two hours to my psychiatrist's office.
Who needs nine, ten hours of sleep?
I do.
Because sleep has become my escape.
Really, I would stay in bed all day if I felt like I could.
Nothing can touch me when I'm in bed.
Sort of like nothing could touch me when I had anorexia.

I miss...
I miss me.
Me.
I feel as if I want too much.
Please God, are my wishes and dreams unattainable?

I know that only I can move forward and reclaim my life.
Then why is it so hard?

I want more...

No hope

I won't be going to Renfrew after all. The insurance denied the pre-authorization today. I was supposed to leave tomorrow for the three-day trip to Florida. I was all ready; I just had to pack. We even got new tires for the car and cleaned it out.

I have no hope this will work out, although the insurance company said they would review it and call me Monday. It's just their way of appeasing my tearful pleas that this was my last chance for recovery. I just don't understand what else they need - my doctor told them on the phone today that this was "essential" for my recovery.

I doubt that I will be blogging for a while, as I am devastated by this and can't think of anything else to write or say. There is nothing else to write or say, except treatment is only for the rich, I guess.

The worst part was that I was ready mentally. It took so much to prepare myself to go, to leave my home and my husband for 30 days. It took so much to admit I needed more help than I was getting here. It took so much to accept the idea of giving up control to get better, but I worked through it and was ready.

I was ready.

Now there is no hope. And I don't want to turn this blog into a hopeless, depressing mess. Because that's what I am right now - a hopeless, depressing mess.