Sunday, December 27, 2009

A Failed Experiment

I had been, for the last week or so, taking only 50 mg of my Zoloft instead of the 75 I am supposed to take. I was hoping I'd be ready to wean myself back down. FAIL. Also, fail because I forgot to take my meds this morning.

Not a fucking chance. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. Why on Earth would I expect that I could deal with that on top of the stress of dealing with lots of people (particularly family) for 3 days straight. Or, better yet, expect that I could deal with all of this as well as trying to make Christmas gift bags with homemade goodies when I have no time, and without snapping someone's head off?

Apparently I am still crazy after all these years. Har de har har. I actually really hurt my mother in law's feelings tonight and I feel absolutely wretched, and it doesn't help that DH is mad at me for it. As if I don't hate myself enough. I didn't mean to be such a whiny bitch, I really didn't. I love my MIL and it kills me that I hurt her feelings. I honestly hate myself right now. I just can't stand this person that is residing in my body and making me say these things and feel so damn bitchy. I hate it. I hate this. HATE THIS. I am constantly on the edge of either an outrage or tears. Wonderful. I want to hurt myself. I won't but that doesn't take away the memory of the relief of watching the blood droplets well to the surface in the blade's wake. God I hate this. WHY ME? Why can't I be fucking NORMAL without needing medication? It isn't fair. It isn't fucking FAIR. I just feel so horrid. I am a horrible person. I hate myself.

I know I won't hurt myself. I know I won't hurt anyone or anything. It just hurts so bad. I can't even explain it. At least I'm not having a fucking panic attack. So I've got that going for me. Honestly I prefer the panic attacks to loathing myself and the occupant of my head masquerading as me.

It also doesn't help that I weighed myself recently. 142. That may not sound like much to you but that tells me I have gained 20 pounds in six months. TWENTY POUNDS. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I can't stand this. What the fuck is wrong with me? (Yeah, I know. Serotonin imbalance. Whatever.) I feel so helpless and horrible. I hate this. I want to rip myself apart just to feel something else. And the fucking tears won't even come. I am just sitting here with my eyes burning and nothing is happening. NOTHING.

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