I’m not going to lie and say that the past couple of weeks have been easy…they haven’t.  My doctor and I have been changing my meds and I had a horribly bad reaction to one of them that led to suicide contemplation and thoughts of hurting myself.  In twenty plus years of being on meds, I’ve never had one that had that effect on me.  It has been a long couple of weeks.  And in typical form, I withdraw and don’t want anyone to know.  How do you come forward and tell those that you love the most that you would rather be dead than trying to deal with life?  It’s so incredibly shameful.  And scary.  It’s so much easier to go inside and hurt alone.  I find it “easy” to sit in my room in the dark and cry.  The panic attacks come and I will freak out because it’s what I do.  I don’t feel safe letting other people in.  That means that all of the non-sense that has been going on in my head has to be put into words.  Most of the time, I don’t have the words…and if I did have words, they don’t make sense anyways.  I can jump from topic to topic and go from zero to 100 miles an hour in a scale of where I am.  No one should see me like that.  People have their own sets of problems… I don’t need to add to their list of things to worry about. 

I still don’t feel right.  I’m still not back to where I was.  I’m still fighting off the demons that whisper to me.  I’m still fighting the urge to run.  I know that it will get better…it always does.  I’m exhausted.  I’m at a loss for words.  I’m unmotivated. 

Do I want to die?  I don’t know.