This morning I was in a bad way, so much so that my mother-in-law called my best friend to come over and take me to the hospital. When BFF arrived I was spinning some wool and trying to be calm and quiet, but I was not in danger of hurting myself. Just depressed. Nearly catatonic, yeah, but not on the verge of suicide. (One of the many good things about having a loving support network: while I may want to kill myself sometimes, I can’t — because I can’t in good conscience do that to the people I love. That’s the only reason I’m still alive, many times over, and I’m grateful to them for caring so much. I’m lucky.)
My morning meds kicked in, and we (BFF and the Valkyrie and I) had a nice visit. I’ve still been on the verge of tears all day, and if I think too hard about my to-do list I start freaking out, but I feel a little better because a) I did a bunch of cleaning; and b) decided to start doing an exercise program ASAP. I’m starting today. Haven’t done it yet, because cleaning, but I swear to Bob I will have done the first workout before I go to bed tonight. The psych med I started last November has made me put on 40 pounds and want junk food all the time. I have got to do something. (And that something does not involve cookies.)
I’m hoping that I can concentrate on some homework shortly. Between bouts of cleaning I let myself spin and weave a little. It was nice. I just need to keep calm and give myself little breaks, and I can get everything done, right? As Valkyrie said: one thing at a time. Just think about one thing at a time.