Broken and wore out.  That’s just how I feel.  Ashamed and guilty, too.

For a the better part of the last year there has been a dark cloud around me.   One death of a loved one right after another, and other family and personal issues left and right.

More and more, I’ve had thoughts of suicide overwhelming my mind.  I don’t think I really want to die.  I just want to stop hurting all the time.  While I don’t feel that I have the courage to actually pull the trigger or push the plunger on a syringe or act on a dozen other means that I’ve thought about, I don’t know for sure.    Depression lies.  It makes you think and behave in ways that you wouldn’t normally.

I stopped taking most of my heart medications thinking maybe my heart would just give out sooner rather than later.  With all the stress and anxiety in my life right now, I’m sure something is bound to happen soon.  I just don’t know how to deal with the pain that I feel all the time.

My diabetes management has fallen by the wayside as well.  I’m not checking my blood sugars, nor have I been taking my victoza or insulins as I should.  My A1C has been creeping up more and more over the last year.  My latest was 8.5.   Funny thing is my 6th diaversary was just a couple of days ago on December 29th.   I usually celebrate it or at least acknowledge the day.    Not this year.  I have nothing to celebrate.  Most of that day was spent thinking about having to send April back to California again.  About my mother getting hurt moving things from the burnt house to the new one.  About all that feels wrong in my world and how much I wish it would all just stop.

And I feel guilty for having the thoughts that I do.  I know April would never forgive me if I did that.  Neither would many others.  Many wouldn’t understand it.  Many would ask why I didn’t seek help.  The problem is, I have sought help and it hasn’t done any good.  I’ve spoken to my doctor.  I have a bottle of pills for depression and anxiety.  Another fucking bottle of pills added to the dozen I take already.  I’ve had a bad history with those medications.  And a side effect of the drug is suicidal ideation.  I already have enough of that on my own.  And I have had enough of people telling me to just suck it up and deal with it.

I just feel broken.  Physically, mentally.  I’m just broken.  My heart doesn’t work like it should.  Neither does my pancreas.  I live in constant pain from old injuries to my back, legs, hips, and chest.  Not to mention the migraines.   It just hurts.  If I were a horse, I’d have been led out behind a barn and shot in the head a long time ago.

The last six years have been so damn hard.  I’m battle worn.  My heart hurts.  I’m tired of fighting all the time.  Of worrying all the time.  Of hurting.

I’ve sacrificed so much of my strength, energy, and determination to help others that I don’t have much left for myself right now.  When I need it the most.   I have a big heart.  I give so much.  And right now it feels like everything I do is merely a distraction; an excuse to not deal with my own problems.  I hate feeling this way.

I’m sorry for rambling on.   And I’m sorry for worrying everyone.   I’ve been trying to write this post for a long time now and haven’t been able to get my thoughts out.  I’ve been in hiding.  I feel ashamed that things have gotten so far out of hand.  I haven’t wanted folks to see just how fucked up things are in my little world.   April is the only person who really knows, and she left for California worried that I won’t be here when she returns.  I hate this.

Well, I guess the bandaid has been ripped off of this gaping wound.   As much as it hurts to spew this word vomit all over this blog, getting these thoughts out of my head is for the best.   And doing so now, in the final hours of 2014, means that I can begin 2015 by making a plan to get my shit together again and start moving forward.  God help me.

Goodbye 2014.  Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.