When nothing makes sense

And I can't breathe? Maybe it's time to talk to my doctor about going back onto an antidepressant. I don't particularly want to, and I don't think I've backslid into a full blown attack, but I think they call it circumstantial depression, and rather than my brain chemicals being messed up? I think that this is actually treatable with simply having been overwhelmed for too long now, and I just can't get my feet back under me.

And maybe it's just time. I want to be able to say that I'm doing fine, and put my smile firmly in place, and have it actually, in reality, be the truth. But the truth is that I'm not okay. I want to be. I'm faking it very well. Which is awesome.

But the walls are actually closing in around me, and I just can't breathe anymore. And as everything gets closer and closer? Watching one catastrophe after another come crashing down, I'm not sure how many more times I can hold things together before I break. And the truth is that I simply don't have the time or the resources to snap.

If I end up with the balls I have in the air falling down, even one of them, I'm going to lose my apartment, going to end up homeless, and with nothing left. And I can't afford to let that happen. And that's what *will* happen if I drop anything. Things are too close to the wire for me to break. And I have no fall-back, and no one to catch me.

I snark at other people, because it must be nice for them to have people to take care of them, and to lean on, and things like that? Maybe it's jealousy, maybe it's just plain meanness at this point. And at this point? I no longer care. What gets said, how they think.

I don't have the time or the energy to care.

The last few days have made it perfectly clear to me that things have gotten bad for me. I care too much, and the emotions I want to stop decimating me, they are in fact drowning me. And no one could function this way, including me.

My favourite aunt lives up north, and the fires have been raging up there, not a mile from her home. It just barely got somewhat under control. She'd been evacuated days ago. I still haven't heard from her, but all I can do is assume that she's safe, and will be able to go home now. I hope. And hoping is all I can do.

My best friend and I are barely holding a sketchy friendship together, that may or may not hold, and at this point, I'm not even sure whether or not it's worth the constant flow of tears every time I get disappointed, because I'm so badly broken that I don't have the fortitude to keep it together enough for the fight.

The handful of people that I genuinely care about are watching me fall apart daily, knowing there isn't anything that can be done for me, because honestly, I don't want sympathy or pity, because that's just how and who I am.

I've become self-sufficient and independent over the last nine months, which is good on one hand, but to a certain extent, it means I no longer trust anyone, and I want nothing from anyone, because I've been let down and screwed over so much that I can't afford to let anyone in anymore.

The one person who I want the most, and want to fix things with the most, is a lost cause to me, and I know it. And I finally gave up on all of it. And while that's probably the best thing I can do now? It doesn't make the pain stop, and it doesn't make anything, any aspect of my life, easier.

My entire heart has shattered into so many pieces I've lost count in the last year. There's no amount of glue that can repair those breaks, and I've finally given up trying. Now? Now, I'm just trying to build a new life for myself, without any of the old attachments that I was so accustomed to. And it's hard. It's so hard to get up every morning, and get through every day, without anything or anyone that made me smile, and made me laugh.

I won't ever be who I was again.

And the depression is eating me alive. It isn't the depression that I used to have, where it crushed me, because I couldn't see straight. It's a circumstantial thing, caused by the last year, and all of the stress that's simply swamped me, and I can't seem to climb back out. And so maybe it's time. Time to ask the doctor for some help, something to make it easier to face the day, to want to go on, instead of wanting to give up. Perhaps it's time to admit that I'm not strong enough anymore.

I simply don't know anymore. I don't want to feel weak and angry and upset at things that shouldn't matter anymore. Maybe taking pills is the easy way out. I simply can't tell anymore. Perhaps that's what I need someone else to be able to evaluate.