Don't Call It A Comeback....

I'm not myself anymore, yet I am unlike any version of "me" that I have ever come across before.  I have always ebbed and flowed through stages of happiness and depression in various stages of my life, but this weird SyFy version of myself where I lie on the couch watching endless Netflix series, drinking way too much wine, missing endless weeks of work, closing out my family and loved ones, and shutting down the mental capacity to deal with any of it, is something I have never encountered before.  They say admitting that you have a problem is the first step to finding a solution.  I have admitted that I have a problem before, only for the problem to get worse.  Mostly because I was only admitting it to get the people around me to leave me the fuck alone so I could get on with the business of ignoring life.  But here I am, admitting my problem to the world so it can no longer be ignored, and I am scared to death.  I would pretty much rather stab myself in the eyeballs with sewing needles while listening to the Backstreet Boys on repeat in a room full of clowns.  That is how ready I am to get on with the business of living again.

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:

1. 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.
2. 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.
3. 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.
4. 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.
5. 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?