I'm sorry

I am so profoundly sad today that it is difficult to see how to make it through the next hour, the next minute, the next sentence. So I will just keep typing and hope that something I write makes a little bit of sense. First of all, I am so so sorry. Sorry that you are reading this and perhaps hoping for something funny. I don't have funny. All I have is sad.

I didn't sleep much, if at all, last night. I keep having flashbacks of the life I have made for myself and how it has all gone so horribly wrong. I won't even bother to list all of the things that I am hating myself for right now. The best thing I can think of to describe bipolar disorder at this moment is a description I once read about it somewhere. Here it is...Bipolar illness is anger gone awry. When I am manic, the extreme anger faces outward and is expressed as hatred for everyone and everything. That was yesterday. When I am depressed, the intense anger faces inward. I hate myself, anything and everything I have ever done. That is today.

I have thought a lot about why it is that I think others want to see me fail and enjoy it even. Despite my husbands logical and reasonable assessment that if they want to see me fail, that's their problem not mine. It's especially self centered to think that everyone wants to see me fail, I know this, but that doesn't help me. In fact, it's just one more reason to loathe myself.

I have received so many Christmas letters from friends from college. While I am aware that these letters are a bit slanted and don't reveal everything that's going on, I am also aware that there must be some truth to their words. These letters tell tales of new homes, recently purchased property, new babies, new jobs, and loving families. It's becoming more and more difficult to fight off the idea that their happiness doesn't take anything away from me. Unfortunately, I do end up thinking of what I am missing, what I have fucked up along the way, and what a terrible terrible person I am for thinking of any of it. Not to mention what a terrible, ungrateful person I am in general.

I tried everything to escape my head this morning. The treadmill, writing my own Christmas letter (except it sounded more like my last post), meditation, yoga, sleep. It was all a tremendous failure. I cannot help but wonder if the new med I have added to my psych-salad is making things worse. In the past Zoloft hasn't created problems, but that doesn't really mean anything.

OK, that's enough puling. I can't stand to read this or write this anymore. I make myself sick.