Every time I find myself at my worst, I come here to bitch about it. It hasn't been all that terrible since my last entry I suppose. So much has happened. I became friends with Andrew in 2018, met in 2019, and now we are married. The fact that I'm married now means the world's longest separation ever is officially over, nearly $13,000 and a lot of headaches later. My ex retained primary custody of my children and I get a generous visitation schedule plus as many visits as I can fit in besides holidays. Therapy has been off and on; however, ketamine is literally a life saver and the talk therapy that I do with it is super helpful. I'm on a med for my depression that helps sort of, and something for my anxiety that doesn't really help at all. I had another seizure from benzos in June, so no more effective anxiety meds for me. Ces la vie!
I'm in love with two men who light up my life in their own ways. I am gainfully employed in a new career field entirely, managing logistics for medical devices and instrumentation. I am relatively healthy and my eating disorder isn't bad at the moment. I shouldn't want to die, but here I am...wanting to die. It's difficult being suicidal in a world full of "but you're so great!"'s, and sometimes I fucking hate it. I fucking hate that people love me. I still believe that I should be gone and that everyone would be fine without me here. I had a plan as recently as a few days ago. I am suffering. It's such a struggle just to get through most days and at this point, I don't want to even keep trying but I don't have a choice. I have to go to work every day. I have to live this stupid life I am subjected to. I have to be here, to the disdain/ delight of the ones who tolerate me on a regular basis. I have to be here but I'm miserable and nothing can change that. Ces la vie.
