So It Begins

 The date is September 8th 2024. 

After two weeks of barely working and a constant sense of impending doom I'm starting to feel better. I often feel like the whole world is closing in on me. The whole world expects things from me and I'm not able to give them. I carry this tension in the knots made of my intestines. 

I'm not sure what took me off course. I was making real progress in therapy and working part time, when my own body betrayed me. The muscles in my abdomen and throat constrict nearly to the point of choking me unconscious. I tremble and feel the room becoming smaller. 

I want to work more, like a normal person. I live with my grandmother because I cannot work enough to support myself. I've lost many professional jobs due to my mental illness. I've left and returned to college at least three times over the last 20 years or so. Being dependent is a horrible feeling. The thought of my future is terrifying. 

You trust your senses. Being completely sober and unable to distinguish reality from imagination is deeply disturbing. What do they want from me? Is it me they want or their freedom? The brain is a complex computer that ultimately decides what you see, hear, and feel. Your senses only add information into the equation. They don't dictate the formula. Once the formula has been altered then anything is possible. 

I had a fairly good day. Good days confuse me. I feel guilty for enjoying myself. Those intrusive thoughts want me to feel like an imposter. They want me to believe my inability to maintain is no more than a personality flaw. Not a serious psychiatric condition. 

I don't believe feeling an internal burning sensation from simply existing qualifies as a personality flaw. Most people can't understand when I say that I am literally in pain just from existing. I'm nearly 40 and have been picking myself back up every few years from one melancholy departure to another. We always say that things will get better, but my experience tells me otherwise. As much faith and appreciation I have for modern medicine and therapy should give me hope. The reality is that we are still limited in our medical abilities and mental health is the slowest moving category in the world. 

I want to die. I want to die before my suffering is all I have left. I want to die peacefully and on my own terms. Do I have the right to die? I believe so. I've been reading a lot about euthanasia over the past couple weeks. The idea fills me with both sorrow and comfort. I can't take another 40 years. I've talked with my therapist multiple times about the idea, and I believe I am going to pursue it, legally. The problem is that I don't live in the world. I live in my head and I'm unable to leave. My sanity is a ship under attack by Poseidon. It's not a fair battle by any means. As roman fables teach us, man is no match for the powers that be. 

This writing has brought some tears to my eyes and I'm grateful. My medicine prevents wide swings of emotion. I haven't felt any in quite some time. I try so hard to put it on the page, but the words never seem sufficient. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day yet.