Recently I’ve been having some sort of identity crisis. I really don’t know who I am. I can’t tell the difference between the real me and the me that is anxiety and depression. I feel so overwhelmed by everything right now that I feel like my mental illness pretty much defines me. That’s who I am, and it controls my life.
But who am I underneath all that messed up baggage? I don’t know. My opinions on everything seem to be altering. I’m starting to literally hate everyone and everything. I’m just hiding myself away in a shell, refusing to interact with others too deeply. And when I do communicate with someone outside of my immediate little family, it rips me apart. It unbalances me and sends my panic and tension levels through the roof. I don’t like talking to people. And I really don’t like it when people try to talk to me. I hate having to put on a happy face, a fake smile, a fragile façade. I hate that I have to think about what to say next. I hate how defensive I feel, how after the interaction I tend to feel angry and resentful towards the person for something they said or the way they said it. I’m just so angry nowadays.
My spiral of negative thinking is getting harsher and more potent now, too. I feel like I’m always criticising myself in some way. I hate myself most of the time, and I assume that everyone else must find me as repulsive as I find myself. I can’t appreciate or accept praise or compliments. I feel like when my husband says I’m beautiful, the only logical explanation is that he’s lying to me. My insecurities are going crazy. I’m always feeling like he’s keeping something from me.
I get so angry with my children, and repeatedly now I’ve said that I hate them and don’t want them anymore. Of course I love them as well (trust me, it is possible to feel hate and love towards someone simultaneously. It’s messed up, but it’s possible). I’d still give my life to keep them from harm if necessary. And we do share sweet moments still every now and again. But I’m becoming increasingly impatient with them. I shout more. I swear (which I don’t usually do). I get very little satisfaction and fulfilment from raising them.
And my marriage isn’t doing so great either. My husband’s anxiety is getting more debilitating, but he refuses to see a doctor. Or he says he will to appease me, but then doesn’t make an appointment because I think in reality he doesn’t intend to. We trigger each other’s panic, and we depress each other when we’re in a low or anxious state, and we can’t help each other. It’s just wearing. And it’s slowly grinding down on what little stability our relationship has left. I can’t take it anymore, and I’ve said multiple times that we need to seriously consider whether staying together is what’s best for us. He always says that we’ll get through it and things will be fine etc etc etc, but I feel like screaming How will it be fine? Tell me seriously, how will things get better? If we’re not changing in any way then things will just stay as they are. Or, heaven forbid, they’ll get worse. So stop being so complacent and let’s do something about this!
It’s seriously driving me insane. The days hold little to no pleasure for me anymore. I’m becoming increasingly worried that I’m a danger to myself and my children. I feel like nobody’s taking me seriously (mainly because nobody knows what’s really going on inside me because I don’t tell anyone. I tell my husband, but he just keeps saying things will be fine) and it’s killing me. I’m scared of everything. I hate everything. I see no hope in my future. I see nothing ahead of me but a continuation of this blackness. And I don’t want it. I don’t want it at all.