Weakness and hopelessness.

This post doesn't have anything to do with traveling, but I wanted to write something for the world to see, even if no one actually reads it, like I'm standing on the top of a cliff proclaiming to the hordes of trees below.

In the past year I've ascended to the highest of highs and descended to the lowest of lows. I've felt invincible and completely vulnerable.

I was at the pinnacle of happiness in July of 2009. I'd never felt so free and independent. I had just returned from a two month trip part way across Canada. I continued on this path until September, when all was great except for when I started feeling lonely. I longed for love, and I started keeping an eye out for signs of interest.

This is difficult. I should skip some of this, I was going to tell the whole story, but it's really not important. Everyone who should know it in detail know it already.

A girl came along and the relationship we had tested and broke through the limits of my sanity.

I never got better.

At the moment of this writing, I welcome death, but I wouldn't dare bring it onto myself, as tempting as it is sometimes. I would never wish hurt upon my friends or family, but sometimes that is the only thread left holding me from plummeting into the darkest of dark places.

I hear about people who have died and I'm secretly jealous. They made it out. They get to find out what's next. Consciously I spend most of my energy trying to break out of my psycho prison. Sub-consciously I spend the rest of my energy bracing myself, being afraid of everything because I can't handle the world. I'm left with no energy at all to do very basic things like eat, exercise, and live.

Anxiety attacks make me feel like everything important to me has been taken away, like someone sees my weakness and takes dark pleasure in removing any security I have left with some kind of terrible magic, tempting me to leave sanity forever. Physically, I feel like my body is shutting down, like I'm drowning, and I can't stop shaking, sweating, gritting my teeth, and grabbing for solid objects to reaffirm that I'm still a part of reality.

I lost one of my most important friends because I can't hold it together.

I don't dare write music when I'm like this, because the feelings get attached, and I can never listen to it again.

I spent five days and five nights in the mental health ward at the QEII recently, and I'm about to start a six week long intensive group therapy program called the Mental Heath Day Treatment program. I'm putting a lot of weight on it to help me get better. I can't feel like this forever. I won't make it.

When I feel like I'm slipping I try to remember what it was like to be happy. My memory has always been bad. I have pills to make the anxiety go away, but I was only given twelve of them, two of which I lost, and three of which I've taken. I'm down to seven. The dose of the pills is one quarter of what I was taking when I was in the hospital. They don't want me relying on them too heavily, so it's just a little bit to hold me over until I start the day treatment.

Hope is hard to find, but I'm still looking, it's probably around here somewhere.