The nausea. The headaches. The unrelenting sadness. The beat-you-down, tear-you-apart, leave-you-begging unrelenting sadness. It's back and I don't know why. WHY? I do everything I am supposed to do. I take my mobile pharmacy of medicine. I go to my weekly therapy sessions and can honestly say they're working. Or at least, I leave and am feeling better about things, but maybe it's because talking about things is abstract? It's so easy to talk isn't it. It's so easy to guess at why things are happening in life. Why the people in your life are behaving how they are behaving toward you or why are you exhibiting certain behaviors? Well, it could be a million different things all of which are so easy to talk about. All of which are hard as hell to implement change in real life.
Maybe it's not the stuff I talk about though. Maybe the stuff killing me is the stuff I don't talk about. Even in the room I pay for to talk about anything and everything in. The room I can dump my darkest secrets into and there they stay locked up. But, like people, maybe I just don't trust the room. I don't trust the four walls to keep my secrets. Why not? I wish I could answer. It's like there are things I need to get off of my chest, but I don't know who to tell. Who do you turn to when there's no one to turn to? Maybe if I just stood in a room and just said it out loud? Maybe just purging it would make me feel better. I don't have to keep it all inside where it's ready to burst out almost all the time. My secret is not life altering. No one is going to want to hurt someone. It's probably the stupidest thing ever. But I've blown it up completely out of control.
So, for now I'm losing my footing. The ground is slipping from under me. The darkness is again descending upon me at possibly the worst time.
What the hell is wrong with me?