Today's weather: cloudy with a chance of rain

It's hard waking up and not knowing exactly where you are going to be standing emotionally.

For those not keeping score at home, I've been diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder, General and Social Anxiety Disorder, and Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome.  Some days can be very very good.  Other days can be...not quite so good.  It's not cyclical...I can't tell you that on Friday I'll be ok, Saturday I'll be down, and Sunday I'll be in bed.  It just happens.  I can have three days in a row where everything is awesome, like Sunday, where despite getting locked out of my car I got to spend a wonderful afternoon with my friend Sara, which always results in dialogue like this:

Sara's dad: What was that?
Sara: Well dad, when a boy fox and a girl fox like each other very much, the boy fox gives the girl fox a special hug.
Sara's Dad: Well, the boy fox and the girl fox need to find a special room.

It also resulted in 2 bags of clothes, which are going to be awesome in a few pounds.

Monday carried on the theme, as I got something to assist me with one of the major sources of visual Dysphoria I've been fighting.  And when I say it helped, I mean it.  I went from happy the box arrived to giddy and nearly crying in the mirror.  Tuesday carried this on, straight through therapy, and on to home.

And Tuesday night is when I started feeling the slippage.

It might have been the music...I was listening to something I haven't listened to in close to 20 years which has massive emotional resonance for me.  Maybe it's the fact that despite me feeling I'm over certain things, I'm not over them as much as I thought I was, which led to choking up in therapy.  Maybe it's the meds not doing what I need them to.  I don't know.

What I do know is for the first time since I started taking my meds, I hit my bottle of Emergency Ativan, and it's probably what's getting me through the day.

You don't see, or feel.  You don't see what's going on in my brain.  You don't feel the tumultuous maelstrom in my heart.  You don't feel my fear, my panic, my terror.  You see me walking through the store, and I look normal (maybe my head is shifting from side to side a lot because I'm in fight or flight already), and you want to walk up to me and tell me to smile.

Don't you think I'd be smiling if I could at that moment?

Do you think I need your reminder that I'm not?

Do you think I need to hear 'Oh come on, it's not that bad?'

Or 'God only gives us what we need?'

Bullshit on that one.  I don't need phase 3 intermediate diffuse large cell non-Hodgkin's lymphoma.  I don't need to have 2 heart attacks.  I don't need a sclerotic right SI joint.  I don't need depression from the earliest I can remember, ulcers at 12 and 13, wondering why my hair wasn't growing when I was a teen and why I had things that didn't belong to me.

God didn't give me this.  Sorry, but you're wrong.

Genetics gave me this, which is not to blame my mother or father.  I've put them through hell raising me, and they're now starting to understand and accept the child they raised is a bit more special than they expected.

I'm a difficult person to get close to...but if I let you in, it's because I think you're special, and you find me special and important too.    It takes time...a lot of time, something...and it hurts when I feel it slip away.