If you read my last post you'd know we were
expecting a new housemate, V. Well she decided to move elsewhere, but God seems
to provide for this house, good housemates have always come along when needed.
Within half an hour of R putting a note on Facebook and me on Gumtree we had
two replies, both from Christians. We met both, and both would have worked but
we went with S as he has lived with R in the past and we all gelled really
well. He's been here about three weeks now and he's a pleasure to live with.
Things are really weird at the moment with
my illnesses. I ended up not coming off the Dexamphetamine, instead we actually
increased the dose. I seem to be okay. Every few hours I get a strong urge to
cut or suicide but I never even get up to go towards acting on them. The
constant emotional pain is gone and I don't know what to do; it's been my
companion for seven years. I find myself hoping for its return because I don't
know how to be well. Let's not go too far though, I'm not happy, just not on
the brink of tears and feeling terrified of myself constantly. There's this
feeling of unjustified uselessness; I feel lazy because I've not been terrible
for about 12 weeks, so I feel there's no excuse for the life I'm living, or not
living. I must remember it's taking 8 different medications to keep me in this
state and it's still not good, just not bad. I'm only awake for about 11 hours
a day. Somehow it still feels like I have more time on my hands, maybe because
I'm not usually having naps and taking sedatives during the day. I don't like
the extra time, I'm not up to working and no one is free on weekdays. I've been
spending a lot of time watching Netflix, reading and when I can muster up the
courage doing a little work on my novel.
I haven't forgotten what it's like to feel
like death is the only option, or that I don't deserve to have skin, but I now
feel like if I were to kill myself it would be my own action rather than
something I was forced to do by my illness. The difference between a cancer victim
dying from their illness or from voluntary euthanasia, both ways they died,
only one can they be held accountable for. Why I would wish for those feelings
back I don't know, maybe so I can end things without guilt or fear, maybe just
because this okay time is so foreign to me. I don't know.
