The chill swelled around me as I rolled out of bed, noticing that I was coherent several minutes before my alarm was supposed to go off. I smirked at this and paid my morning homage to the porcelain god, shuffled into the kitchen, started the coffee and fed my two feline children their daily can of wet food. Strangely, I was actually feeling pretty good considering the hour that I was up and the lack of sleep I had. The morning seemed to be going fairly well.
I felt a great deal better after being allowed a few hours of freedom yesterday with my Sisters and a dear friend, where we walked the almighty consumer's paradise (also known as a mall). It was just good to get out of the house, away from the constant pressure inside my ribcage that felt as if my lungs were slowly being strangled by an invisible hand of anxiety. It wasn't much, but just getting away from here for a short while made such a difference. I didn't feel like I was drowning anymore.
Even this morning, half-asleep and growly, Dad was still passed out so I had a little time to myself that I gladly took advantage of.
Of course, that good feeling didn't last long.
Because from the very moment Dad woke, it was a non-stop barrage of cursing...his anger was so potent that I instantly became physically affected by it. He asked for my help, which I naturally gave, but the energy coiling off of his form literally whipped out and slapped me, using me as its only target. I'm not kidding when I say I feel sick from it.
Even though I actively tried to be nicer, to not get upset, to just deal with his outburst because he was half asleep and feeling crappy. I made no move to argue, I just tried to help... I even made a fresh pot of coffee for him and got his morning sandwich ready so he wouldn't have to ask. I thought of all of this before he got up...because I'd been feeling so shitty for being constantly down around him even when I fought to be happy.
The intensity of his mood, the emotions that spilled out nearly choking me, literally caused the chest pain to center itself right over my heart and my stomach to twist into painful knots. Still I tried to be helpful and gentle...and was attacked for it. So instead, I kept all the things I could have said in my defense, to myself and silently gave him his sandwich and coffee.
He apologized right afterward, he hadn't meant to attack me... But the damage was already done and no matter how much I've just shut down so I don't feel anything, it hurts to breathe. It wasn't just someone being grumpy, it was a full on verbal rage that poured out of his mouth and was directed at the only other person here.
No matter which way I go about it, I get cut. The bitch of being forced to hold a double edged sword with a razor edge.
*sighs and takes a drink of her coffee*
I hate being a broken record, I hate that I'm surrounded in this negativity and my only ability to reach out is through these black keys. It's the only place I can vent (even if it's only a glimpse and tends to be pretty cryptic) the only place I can try to escape to. I love my Father, very much. If I didn't, I wouldn't be losing my gorramed mind right now trying to help him.
*takes another, heftier drink from her nightmare before christmas thermos*
The bitch about depression is actually addressing it, and seeing it for what it really is. Seeing the affect it has and how destructive it can be to one's lack of mental stability. I have fought for so long to actively convince myself that though I may be showing signs of such a thing, it would not rule me. Saying that is all well and good, but when it starts to physically drain me...that's a problem.
I look around me and grimmace. This place is just...disgusting to me. I have no choice but to clean, which has never been that much of an issue, but lately I've been lagging... I have to also pack. Trying to do both when you're constantly overwhelmed, and you're the only one to do it... I have no other choice but to admit that I've been frozen. I am Not proud of myself for being like this, but today it stops. The anxiety has become so fucking horrendous I can barely function. Always on edge, feeling as though I'm constantly under attack... It's gotta stop.
I'm angry at myself for not being stronger than my emotions. I am incredibly disappointed with myself. But instead of beating myself up about it, I'm gunna get off my ass today and do what needs to be done. Period. Emotionally and physically exhausted, doesn't matter. Feeling like my chest is going to cave in isn't going to hinder me. Gunna the bite the bullet and just do it.
I just wish I didn't feel so sick to my stomach...that I wasn't so hypersensitive to my father or his heavy breathing as he watches the TV. The sound...it's becoming maddening. I need to put my headphones on and clear my head.
It's still early, I still have coffee...I can do this. Why? Because that's my job.
I just wish my Mind would stop fighting with itself and let me have a gorramed break.
-Anon
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