Walking in Mud

I’ve been thinking about what someone said to me, about wanting to know why I didn’t make my blog private. Especially since I have someone harassing me. When I first started this blog a couple of years ago, I did have it set to private, but then I went back and began reading some of my own post, and what I read even frightened me a little. I could see that some of my post were not ‘normal’, and I questioned my own sanity more than once.

One of my many voices convinced me to let the world see my thoughts, in hopes of it keeping me from reacting on one of my many bizarre thoughts. Big people know now why I’m so sad, and knowing that has helped me to avoid acting out.

The first few days after my arrest, I felt alert, more aware of what was going on around me. That feeling is already starting to fade. Stress is taking over and I feel like I’m wading through waist deep mud, with concrete buckets attached to my feet. Amazingly I don’t feel like cutting myself, which is where my thoughts usually take me when I want to feel normal again.

I don’t know if meds are the answer to making me feel more human, and a part of me is terrified to try any type of new drug, so I feel lost. I thought about trying to get an appointment to see a psychiatrist, but for now, I don’t have a way to get there. My insurance is not going to pay to see a therapist, so I keep making these excuses, letting one of my many voices tell me that there is nothing wrong with me, it’s the rest of the world.

Until I’m probably forced into getting some sort of help, I’ll be on here, writing about the way I feel and how my past continues to fuck with my mind.