5.5 That’s how many days I went without showering. FIVE AND A HALF DAYS. I didn’t even have the legit excuse of no heat. I just have zero will to bathe. Or more appropriate, the depression has left me with zero energy to expend on such frivolity. I can wet wipe myself and use deodorant, keep the stench at bay. Try to ignore my scalp is so skanky my entire head itches. I used to relish bathing. And during the summer when marinating in my own sweat, showering isn’t that hard, usually. But during winter…Ugh. It sounds so pathetic and lazy and disgusting but it is…

I can’t figure out on what planet this pattern of not bathing would not truly concern any mental health professional. I guess psych nurse just thought being stinky and slovenly is my norm. Which it is so not. This is the anxiety and depression and it’s been going on for months. Yet she had zero concern. I presented with every visible sign of clinical depression and intense anxiety and she just…

Yeah, yeah,I need to let it go. Anyway…I finally forced myself to shower last night. It was supposed to make me feel better. Other than preferring the scent of Irish Spring to my own reek and having a non itchy scalp…it just felt like another damned chore, like washing dishes or scooping litter boxes. Seriously, depression has even robbed me of the basic pleasure of a shower. this isn’t normal, this isn’t affect.

The whole situation with our home(lessness) up in the air has me a trainwreck, and I feel so damned powerless I just want to give up. And sure, it’s enough to stress out anyone but the thing is…

Even before this complication arose…I was down the rabbit hole. I just keep thinking, I just need one good idea, I just need one break, I can pull myself out of….and then my brain goes off the reservation and the thoughts start spinning and I can’t come up with a single coherent thought. No plan of action. It’s all too jumbled. One would assume thought it as simple as putting one foot in front of the other and walking. But it’s not. My brain is in total control of walking and breathing and such-but when it comes to focus, problem solving, organization…I’ve got less than nothing and it is terrifying.

Because I can’t melt down. I don’t have that luxury. My kid says at least once a week, “Promise you won’t leave me, Mommy.” And I’ve never left her, I’ve been here every day since she was in utero, so the notion of me leaving her must stem from her sperm donor having split so she clings to the one parent she has left. And I can’t and won’t leave her, and after what my family has been through after K’s suicide this month…I’ve even abandoned my long term ‘end of the road’ plan of self destruction if I can’t get back up from the depression and anxiety. Which means I am in it for the long haul and that’s as it should be, but with no psych support and my own mind working against me…I feel like I am on a sinking ship. But I can’t feel that way because my 8 year old needs me to be an adult. There is no three day stay at the psych ward to recharge or stabilize.

Yet if I needed an operation and was in for three days…that’d be okay, not abandonment or weakness. But because my ailments are mental…it’s not legitimate.

I am so sick of this.

And I am sick of my gut being in knots, my nerve endings on fire, feeling so damned exhausted that even making my kid a sandwich is tiring. I have a disaster zone of a house and I should be scrubbing everything with a toothbrush in a last ditch effort to convince the new powers that be not to throw us out but instead…I am still binge watching Scandal and when not doing that…I am on my 4th novel in 3 weeks. If anything good has come out of this latest meltdown is I am so far gone I am actually able to focus on reading a book because even grisly murder mysteries seem less cumbersome than my real situation.

More than all of it…I am sick of complaining. I am sick of feeling weak and hopeless and useless and lost. I am sick of trying so hard only to get nowhere, have no support, and never gain an ounce of self confidence because my own brain is my worst enemy.

I just want to live life as contently as possible and even that has been denied.

I’d love to go all girl power and pull myself up by the bootstraps like all the self helpers preach but that’s the thing about depression. It cuts off your bootstraps, breaks all your fingers, and you have nothing to pull on or with.

Depression hobbles as well as that chick from Stephen King’s “Misery”.

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