Emailed

I took a big step tonight.

I emailed the college's therapist about an appointment.

I don't believe in therapy as a rule. I don't think that talking out your problems is going to solve anything. If you can't handle it on your own, then it is too big for just talking to take care of.

But I need help. And I need it soon. I've been more depressed in the past 4 months than I've been in a few years. I don't understand it. My life is finally back on track.

I'm always tired. Irritable. Lonely. Jealous. Angry. Or worse, blank.

I used to value being an empty slate. I took pride in my ability to let go of all my emotions and just be mentally limp. I used to call it meditating.

This sort of mediation isn't helping my anxiety any more, though. It isn't helping the pains I get in my chest and ribs that prevent me from breathing properly. It isn't helping get rid of the anger I feel towards EVERYONE in my life.

Even now, as I sit here writing, I find that I am trying to calm my breathing. I picture a giant drain in the back of my mind, emptying all the hurt and sad and panic down a pipe at my feet. It is a process that leaves me hollow. Shiny and new.

-ish.

I tried to deal with it through copious amounts of alcohol - mostly tequila, rum, and beer. Occasionally wine if I was feeling like a classy drunk. I would sip it after classes, before work, after work. In my flat or at the bar on the corner.

But I reached a point tonight where I just didn't have the energy to drink. I was bored with the idea of sipping on something until I got the fuzzies in my nose. The fuzzies that would let me sleep without having to gasp for air or try to shut down my brain. They did that for me.

So. I emailed.