I can’t do this one more day – it hurts too much.  It hurts to try to be OK when I’m drowning.  It hurts to put on a brave face when all I want to do is hide.  It hurts to keep trying and 99% of the time feel like an abysmal failure.

The ache inside of me is clawing it’s way out and it feels out of control.  The fog has invaded my mind to try to cope.  I’m trying not to go buy more razors.  Hope is elusive.  I need a break but there is no space or time or energy . . . everything inside of me and outside of me is crashing together into one huge mess.  I’m panicking.

I guess this is life.  This is life with depression, PTSD, lack of sleep, difficult life circumstances . . . it’s just life.  I wish I wasn’t so panicky and ashamed.  I wish I felt like I was doing a better job taking care of things and people I’m responsible for.  One of my therapists said “I’m not hearing you have a lot of self-loathing like you used to” – oh man – if she only knew.  If she only knew how I berate myself in the quiet moments.  There is no peace.  It is a voice that is out of control spouting hate and condemnation every chance it gets – I’m not enough: I’m not doing enough I’m not trying hard enough I’m not taking care of things well enough.

There is no escape even in sleep when nightmares reign.

I need room to breathe.

If I can ride the wave and not hurt myself to get some air I will consider that a win.