Welcome back...

Things are going to shit again, and my therapist's suggestion for that is to write. It's true that I express myself better while writing than speaking, and it's true that I refuse to go back to the place I blogged for years, because of the way I was treated in the end. So here I am. Surprised I even remembered the address.

I'm struggling with being deeply depressed and having no one in authority believe that I know what should be done about it. I've dealt with this shit since I was a teenager. I'll be 53 in a couple months. This is not my first rodeo. But nobody believes it's as serious as it feels to me.

So last night, after exhausting elebenty-billion DBT coping skills, I went for my tried and true: I cut.

It made me FURIOUS.

I was so surprised by that reaction that I did it again, just to see what happened.

I was even MORE furious.

I cut because it works. It's a physical release of the emotional torment. After the knife has hit, and I see the blood, I feel like a tire deflating. All the pressure is released and there's just a feeling of AHHHHH. Now I feel better.

Until last night.

So, that's the death of a coping mechanism, I guess, and now I have to find one that works as well as cutting used to.

My therapist wondered if the anger had been simmering unawares, like a volcano before it erupts. Upon thinking about it, I realize I'm angry most of the time. My sister told me once I was the angriest person she knew. I was stunned, but it turns out she's right. The trick is figuring out what I'm angry about. I know I'm still angry about the damn disability, 5 years later. I'm angry that I'm reduced to a job that requires less than a high school education, when I have a masters degree. (I told a former psychiatrist what I was doing now. He said, "I think that's a great job for you! DON'T OVERDO IT." (Emphasis mine.) I'm angry that people feel sorry for me. I'm angry a mental health professional called the cops on me and humiliated me in front of my coworkers and neighbors. (Should I be grateful he cared that much? Probably. But I'm angry.) I don't even know what else I'm angry about, just that I am. I try not to think about it too much.

I'm even angry writing about being angry. Time to go watch my stupid show and snuggle the cat. More to come.....