This week’s old journal entry is relatively recent… it was written about a week after my professor asked me to leave my lab. I share it because I think it captures the intense sense I had of having lost everything, and what a loss I was at in terms of how to pick up the pieces.
I’m coming to realize that I have only a few good hours in me in a day.
I’ll get on a roll because I’m feeling good about one thing–I got enough sleep, I finally refilled my ativan, yoga class was awesome today…whatever–and then that will give me a few hours of optimism. I think I get maybe a little more if during that time I keep up good habits… talking down bad thoughts, focusing on one thing at a time, etc…but that may just be my wishful thinking.
When it ends, either because something difficult happens or because it just breaks through… it’s like being sucked back underwater. Drowning in it. How will I ever be ok with this. I’ve ruined my life. I’ve ruined everything I’ve worked towards. What have I done? I hate myself. I wish I could hurt myself. I wish I could do something to get out of my skin. God, everything hurts. I keep hoping it’s a dream…
My days are spent rolling between the good moments above the pain, when I have the energy to keep myself afloat, and the bad moments that come when a wave knocks me over or I just get too tired to swim any more. I know eventually I’ll make it to shore, but there is just something about that sensation of drowning… you can’t quite convince yourself that it isn’t forever. It feels like hell, like doom, like being swallowed whole by the pit of self hatred roiling in my gut.