mishmash

Feeling frustrated today. On the verge of rage–if it truly is rage–that defies words but combines anger, frustration, sadness and anxiety. This is a new feeling for me and I felt irritated all weekend at even the minor things in life. Everything feels like sandpaper under my skin. No matter what I do, it all seems to make it worse. My only relief is to sleep. When I’m sleeping, I’m not sad, I’m not angry, I’m not lonely. I’m nothing.

Others can only see what lies above the surface. The mass that remains below is a mystery. It’s frightening to not always see the good in life. Behind the mask and behind closed doors, my mind is filled with thoughts of worthlessness, inadequacy and despair. There are few things more exhausting than pretending you’re fine when you’re not.

Sometimes I wear a mask because I don’t want to believe I feel as miserable as I do. Sometimes it’s wearing the mask so I don’t lose my job or so I can just make it through the day without being asked what’s wrong. It takes an enormous amount of strength to appear ‘normal’.

T brought up the hospital again on Friday. I don’t feel like it’s somewhere we belong so I vehemently disagreed with him and refused to discuss the matter. It doesn’t feel like we are in a bad enough place to agree to go there and we won’t have our rights stripped from us again. The mask is cracking and we need to glue the pieces back together so that we can appear okay. No matter what, we can’t end up there again.