Like An Armadillo

My husband has been off work this past week and it’s been wonderful. But now Tuesday is looming (the day he goes back to work) and I feel like I’m falling back into that pit of despair filled with restless ghosts that won’t stop whispering at me.
What is the point of life?
What is the point of you?
You don’t do anything.
You don’t mean anything.
Life is monotonous and pointless.
Etc etc etc.
ARGH.
It’s just so exhausting. I just want to curl up so tight and small that the negative thoughts bounce off me when they try to attack. Like I’m an armadillo or something. A creature with an in-built defense mechanism, a tough exterior to protect the sensitive interior. But here’s the real question: how do you curl up and hide from your own mind? It’s inside of you. You can’t exactly remove your brain temporarily whenever it gives you trouble. You can’t shut it off when it’s malfunctioning. Not without shutting your entire self off irreversibly, of course. Which isn’t an option for me. I won’t give up.

But I hate this mental illness crap!

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