So, here you go world. I am a fucking mess.
I don't know when or why I disappeared, or why I am so afraid of feelings, and reality, and being happy. I have been doing a lot of self reflection (in between all of the self-medicating), and there are so many things that swirl in this wine filled, pill fogged brain of mine. Here are some realistic, selfish and probably deluded theories:
- Once the kids got older and I didn't have a reason to run around and have other people to care for, I stopped caring for myself.
- Once I was properly diagnosed with lupus, and things started hurting more, starting becoming more real, and I couldn't just "do" what I wanted to do all the time, reality became too much and I checked out of it earlier than I needed to.
- In light of certain life events over the last year, the depression that I have kept so closely to the vest, has leaked out like a shitty diaper and stinks up the air around me until neither I, nor the people around can breathe anymore.
- My fear of getting fat again has in turn actually had this strange obsessive hold over me that has adversely actually allowed me to gain weight which has then plummeted my already blossoming depression into a deeper hole of despair that just circle jerks itself into a spiral of unending insanity.
- Wine is good.
Excuses aside, I have been an asshole. A weak, whiny, excuse hurdling asshole too afraid to take on her own demons, her own mortality and her own life. Aside from cancelling my Netflix subscription for awhile, avoiding the liquor store, and getting my ass off the couch once in awhile, I don't know where to begin when it comes to getting myself back. Maybe I will never be who I was again. Maybe I can be better. I guess the only way I can find out is to take the first gut wrenching step forward.
Here goes nothing, right?