Something very serious is happening to me.

The medicine. It stopped working. The depression is the least of my issues right now. It is the mania that is making me depressed. However, it is a different sort of mania. I am commiting risky behaviors that are surprising even me. I can't get into them, not even on what is considered a private blog. The only person who knows in the entire world is my husband. He's the only one who understands me enough to listen and the only person who will never judge me. He's also the only person I trust with the truth.

The truth is bad. Very bad.

I have began hurting myself again. My fingers tell the tale. I have ripped off the nails to the quick, to the point where they are bleeding and it pains me to even type this on both an emotional and physical level. The pain is sweet though, because it gives me a momentary break from the noise going on in my head. When I was focusing on my nursing license, I had a goal...an extreme, heavy duty goal. Nothing was going to stop me from achieving it. Not even mental illness. I would not let it swallow me. Now that the goal has been met and there is not another on the horizon, the sounds are coming back to me. The spending sprees have begun again. The voices are now louder than ever. I am seeing things that aren't there. I am doing things that would put me in jail. I am looking for the adrenaline rush I got when I had an affair on my ex husband with Matthew so many years ago. Only this time, I have a different outlet. Cheating on my husband is not an option. It is not something I want. My life with him is perfect...I could never ask for a more supportive and loving man who doesn't just cherish me for the perfect blowjob. He loves my soul, my individuality...the flaws that define me. He embraces all of it. He cries with me when I am in pain, not outwardly, but you can see it all in his eyes. No, cheating will never be an option. So, I am forcing myself back into school in some way shape or form. I need a new goal...a new aspiration to keep me refocused on something other than the self destruction I am putting myself through right now. I don't feel very good, I don't feel very beautiful. My job is depressing me more than it is helping me. I want to work trauma, where everyday is a rush. I am so tired of passing meds at the long term care facility...watching people spend their last days empty...their eyes just drooping, nothing to look at, nothing to see. Every single day, the same as the one before.

I envision myself that way...and it makes me want to die.

I am having panic attacks, anxiety attacks, to the point where I can't breathe. I am dreaming of murder and how exactly I want to commit it. No specific person, but something I want to try. I would use a chicken first, test my theories. Maybe then, move onto a live animal...who knows. I don't think I would actually do it...but I think about it all the time. ALL the time now. My medicine which worked so beautifully for months is now fading on me.

Even as I write these words I feel pieces of me slipping away. I don't know what to do with myself anymore. My rampant thoughts, the visions, the sounds, the tastes, the smells...all of these things isolate me because they are concotions in my own mind. I am slipping away. I am falling. There is nowhere to land safely. I can't tell anyone what I have been doing because I will suffer such severe ramifications.

Only my husband knows...and he will be the one to be able to tell my story long after I am unable to tell it myself. I am watching myself fade away from a view I have not seen before. It's a mirror, but I am not looking at me, I am simply observing. Like being on the opposite lens of a camera that is filming myself.

All I want, need and desire is self inflicted pain. I want to suffer in silence and drag no one into my puddle of mud alongside me. I am addicted to whatever hurts me.

I had a dream today about murdering my boss. I was wide awake. I wasn't sleeping. I caught myself daydreaming about it and devising a plan. I would never act upon it, but the thoughts alone are compelling. Driving me crazy.

I have a visit with my psychiatrist on Monday and I think I will bring my husband with me to vouch for how sick I have become. I need help. This ship is sinking. I can't write anymore because the pain in my hands is so severe. I want to cut off my own fingers. I think it would be interesting to do...and then, sew them back on myself. Again, not something I would do...but something I am consistantly thinking of. I am too much of a coward to carry out such plans, but it never stops me
from being compelled and consumed with the thoughts.

Is there anything that is going to save me? I am forty years old. I am suffering what I have suffered from my entire life...only now, I am engulfed in it. And, knowing what is wrong with me now is different than acting out and not knowing why.

Suicide is not in my plans. I love my husband and children too much to make them suffer from my selfish actions. But if they were ever to leave me...to lose their love for me...then yes. It would be priority on the agenda. They are all I have in this world. They save me on a daily basis simply by existing.

I'm so sick. I am so sick of being sick. It's five am. I am still awake after pulling three shifts in a row. I watched a movie, "Running with Scissors", the screenplay of the same name by Augusten Burroughs. I loved the book. The movie was amazing and made me feel...not so alone. Crazy feels good next to crazy.

I need to feel good again.