Things are marginally better, I think.
I actually had a nice Thanksgiving. The outpatient program I used to be part of does a Thanksgiving thing every year, and I went to that with my landlady and her partner. (My landlady works there.) I almost didn’t go because I was afraid I’d start crying in the middle of it, but I went and didn’t cry. Didn’t even want to. Good food, and some of the leftovers are now in my fridge. (Thank god, because my food stamps money is out, and the new money won’t come through until December 8.)
I’m looking forward to Christmas with my mom in Florida, so that’s useful. She mentioned that my Christmas stocking that my grandmother knitted when I was born got lost when she moved, and she doesn’t have a stocking for herself or my stepfather either…so I’m knitting Christmas stockings. She’s also having trouble finding most of her Christmas ornaments (may have also gotten lost in the move), so if I have time, I’m going to knit her some ornaments, too. But she’s upset because a lot of the ornaments she’s missing are ones my sisters and I made as kids, and those can’t be replaced.
I’m still massively depressed. I’m spending most of my time in bed, and a lot of it sleeping. My sleep cycle is completely fucked up–I sleep for most of the day, get up between 4:00 and 8:00 PM, stay up until 2:00 or 3:00 AM, sleep some more, get up between noon and 3:00 PM…it’s screwed up. I could probably get back into a semi-normal sleep pattern if I tried, especially if I used my light box, but honestly I just don’t care enough. Every time I sleep, I have bad dreams and nightmares, but I don’t even really care. I wake up in a tangle of sweaty sheets with my heart racing, but it’s still easier to be asleep than awake.
I’m not as intensely, imminently suicidal as I have been the last several weeks, but I still just don’t know how long I can keep going like this. It’s no way to live. I’ll do okay for food in December because my mother will pay for food for the two weeks I’m there, but I’ll come back to the same financial situation. And the depression and anhedonia and utter purposelessness…that’ll all still be with me too. I keep thinking I should ask my psychiatrist for antidepressants or some other drug something to make me okay, but then I remember there is no miracle drug. I’ve already been on nearly every psych med in the book, and they don’t help. But it feels like the only option available to me, since support and therapy are basically inaccessible to me. There’s some part of me that still wants to believe that there’s some solution, even though I know there’s not.
I can keep going for a while, but a life like this is not sustainable. No one was meant to live like this.