How the Depression and Anxiety of Illness Make Me Feel Trapped at Home
I have found that staying home is my “safe place.”
The thought of driving to the convenience store two miles down the road throws me into a panic attack.
I manage to go to my doctor once a month, longer if I can stretch it out, therapy, and most school events.
If I do leave, I require medication for my anxiety. It usually doesn’t work 100 percent. This makes me feel even more socially awkward.
I hate this. Hate it! I feel like a lump. I am so tired! I only want to sleep, but it’s not that easy. My brain ticks off all the things that could possibly go wrong. When I do sleep, I dream of working, or I have those hellish night terrors.
My husband does all the shopping, trips to the park, sometimes the cooking. I wish I could explain to him that I’m not just being “lazy.” I think he knows, but he doesn’t truly understand.
I wish I could be the me before. More than anything.
When I panic I have physical issues with my body.
I hate not being the fun summertime Mommy.
Sometimes I feel like I am literally dying.
Sometimes I want to die, but not really.
I know I am missing out on my daughters growing up.
My heart is broken.
I don’t know if I can pull myself out of this black, deep, dark hole I dug for myself to hide in.
I’m so tired of crying.
I’m so tired of being angry.
I’m so tired of being stuck in this house, which is now my self-imposed prison.
What if this gets worse??
Will he divorce me?
I don’t know the answers to those questions. I hope putting one foot in front of the other every day will work eventually. I won’t give up. I won’t let this beat me.
What I do know is I do want to accept the invitations to go out and have fun.
I do want to go on weekend getaways. Thanks for the invitation, I appreciate it.
However, I. Just. Can’t. Right. Now.
If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, the Trevor Project at 1-866-488-7386 or text “START” to 741-741.
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Thinkstock photo via StephM2506.