The Art Of Dysfunction

It’s 3:30 a.m. I woke up around 12:30 for no reason. Just woke up. Maybe because I’d crawled into bed freezing cold and in a depressive abyss at 9 PM. For no reason.

Now I am huddled under a blanket in front of this screen looking at the digital clock and I swear I can hear it ticking old school, mocking me, telling me I have to be up in 3 hours to get my kid ready for school and if I don’t sleep soon I am going to oversleep and she will miss the bus and I will have to take her. That happened four days last week because my dysfunction has resulted in splotchy sleep.

My anxiety is off the charts, round and round the cyclone of thoughts swirl. I have to register her for Kindergarten next week and they want every document known to man from six different doctors and I have nothing ready to go. I have to see a substitute shrink Wednesday. By the weekend I have to go plaster on the happy face for my sister’;s birthday shindig with the family (And while I survived my last plastered on happy face outing, I paid for it with two days of absolute miserable depression.) Round and round it goes. I took a Xanax but apparently it only slows down the brain for everyone but me.

I feel overwhelmed and buried alive. The depression simply isn’t lifting. This is an anomaly because even without an anti dep, the change of weather and time should be making me enter a manic phase. I’m not even getting that much of a break here. So I am freaking out and cursing my own dysfunction and surrounded by people who don’t care and don’t get it which adds to the depression and frustration.

It’s weird because I do have very brief periods of feeling content or even on an upswing. But they’re so fleeting it’s like, why bother. I have something to look forward to this summer and instead, my brain has turned it into this thing of terror and dread and panic. Like it’s going to be a disaster because everything I touch is shit and all I ever do is disappoint people. Why bother trying.

Hell, today I got motivated and fixed a meatloaf. It was overcooked in spots. I couldn’t even get a meatloaf right. It made me very dejected. If I can’t do simple things I’ve done a dozen times before, what hope is there for something new working out?

I wish it would all go away, all the dysfunction, all the lies depression tells, all the anxiety is causes.

But one thing about it. I have elevated dysfunction to an art form.

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One Response to “The Art Of Dysfunction”

  1. My darling, the only thing that gets me through is wine. Wine wine and more wine. But that’s not your option. I wish I could help, I really really do. I wish so much we lived closer and we could support each other more than we do. Just know I love you and you’re always in my thoughs.

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