Tuesday is a blurr. I can’t remember much of it other than feeling guilty for wasting my life away locked up in my appartement. Wednesday wasn’t better. I was meant to see a play with V but as the day went on. My brain couldn’t order my body to get up and out and live. So I cancelled. Doing something I was not excited about wasn’t going to help the situation.
I was suggested by my therapist to try and break the obsessive thoughts by changing scenes. I tried my little roof top. It worked once. On tuesday, I think. Going for a walk has become terrifying. I feel watched, judged, inferior. I also feel exposed to my unhealthy escapes. My drug. Food.
Wore my baggiest clothes on wednesday, I walked out. Headed to the art store. Bought pens, gouache, and came back home. Contemplating my bed, a movie, food. I felt disgusted. I needed to do something else. Instead I entered the nearest starbucks, if only it was a park with trees not muffins. The nearest park is too far. I wasn’t in the mood. Had a chai tea. Started doodling. I felt calmer. The urges lessened. They did not disappear, I went home. Bought dinner. Too much dinner. Headed home with a less clouded mind.
I kept painted trying gouache. Swirling my brushes on the paper. Remembering why I hated that medium. It runs, it is water based. I can’t express myself with it. Stopped. Calmer again. Feeling even more stable I watched a movie, while eating and fell asleep.
I cried that day. I am not sure why but I cried. I thought about my mother aging, my father passing away, unemployment. It brought tears to my eyes.
Today should have been better because I had an art class in the evening but it was not. I cannot find the motivation to apply for jobs, to send inventory for my shop. I spent the day in bed. Knowing that if I was really in the darkest place I would eat all day. I lost the will to live.
I had two pastries instead of one. Pasta for lunch and I slept. Sent my adverts to my shop manager and slept. I was not deeply sleeping because while I slept there. I still felt guilty about wasting my time in bed. So here I am sitting at the art school’s cafe. Waiting for my class to start. Once again feeling like a stranger. Surrounded by beautiful, joyful people. Feeling huge, ugly.
I can’t seem to feel better…
Apologies for venting and complaining. Can’t call my therapist. I want to try this on my own. If and when it gets darker than this that call might be necessary.