I ended tonight as poorly as I began it.

I sat at this computer and cried for nearly an hour. Not "tear, drip, splash" and you're over it kind of crying. I mean, deep, heavy sobs...so deep that they don't make a sound, but your body shakes. So hard, my bladder gave way...something reserved usually for when I am laughing hysterically. Howls of pain every so often, because sometimes the inside of my head hurts so much, I want to hurt myself physically to make it go away.

Not suicide. But physical pain. I grabbed my own hair and started punching myself in the head while holding a fistful of it.

I remember my mother doing that when she was a little younger than I am right now.

My husband slid a klonopin into my mouth, literally placed it in there and then forced some water into my mouth. I cried some more. Then, in about fifteen minutes, it came to a screeching halt. Only tears. No sobs, no facial expression of pain. Just tears that still needed to escape.

How lucky they are to leave my head.

I ate some dinner. I went to bed, nestled in his arms. I told him I love him. He told me he loved me too and stroked my hair until I fell asleep.

I just woke up. It's 2:22.

I feel isolated. Lonely. Distressed. Disturbed.

I am losing faith in this drug. Rapidly.

Worse, I am losing faith in my ability to get better. I know the titration has to be slow, but I stare at that bottle of Lamictal and I want to eat the whole thing. Just fucking WORK already. Please. For God's sake, look what you are doing to me. You are teasing me with the promise of getting well. I am in hell right now, because I can see faint rays of light where heaven should be, but it's too smokey and dark to see beyond that.

This is the pit of despair, a hole I have become quite familiar with.

I am gaining so much weight from stress and tension eating. I can't stop eating when I feel this way. I must be well over 200 pounds by now. Somehow, I manage to ignore it, but I feel it in my clothes. I feel it in my breathing. And, I think I see it on my husbands face every so often.

I'm not the woman he married anymore.

I'm not anything close to what I used to be.

My twenties were so blissful. Chalking my bipolar disorder up to young adult hijinx. Too many drugs. Too much sex with too many partners. Up all day, up all night. Spending money my boyfriends threw at me. I was so blissfully ignorant of what I was doing back then.

Now, I can't erase the pain. My life has gotten too quiet that you can't help but say hello to the demons who have been there all along, just waiting for you to catch up.

I'm in so much pain. So much.