Hearing the noises of the house, and the neighborhood beyond as if through a closed box, from an unfathomable distance. Feeling that my husband and daughter are tangible lifelines, and without the thousand ethereal, umbilical ties to them I'd be floating in the universe alone and would die simply from having no purpose. Living in an invisible cell that keeps the rest of the world just blurred and unreachable enough for me to know I'm not a part of it. Seeing colors but having no names for them. Seeing nightmare visions in the dark flash of each blink. Living with something inside my gut that is always trying to get out. With claws. Cycles of peace and wholeness alternating with shaky feelings of being unmade. Staring at small pink pills with deep suspicion, being unsure whether they are having any effect, although somewhere inside there is still a rational voice knowing that without them the tense knots are worse and I'll sink into depression, a much worse thing, without them. Being not really sick like people with real disorders like bipolar because I can fake it and function even though it's like living with the contrast and color turned way down. The sureness that the worries are a personality flaw that illustrate an inescapable, fundamental weakness. Which is my fault. The certainty that if I fail to be braced against the next catastrophe- a flash of the baby bleeding or worse, just gone- it will surely materialize.
I upped my SSRI to the actual prescribed dose this morning, after writing the previous impression yesterday. I had already started taking them in the morning instead of the evening, and the insomnia is back to my normal mild overthinker-insomnia. The increase might bring some of that back but I can feel the backwards sliding so I treat it. Today is better anyway, even rainy and dark as the morning is. Tomorrow's post will be filled with colorful skulls and pre-Halloween squee.
Up & down & up & down & up. Thanks for riding with me.