Swing Low Sweet Chari… Oh FUCK this

I was fine this morning. In fact I woke up focused and relaxed nearly an hour before my alarm went off. At the time everything seemed to be moving in slow motion and I felt as though I actually had control of things. My day is simple: get up, go to work, make dinner, paint and relax.
It seems simple. It really does.
Crying in the bathroom stall of your work place is a dehumanizing experience.it really mutha fuckin is. It isn’t something I resort to very often or by choice in case you didn’t guess. I mean, you’re stuck in there, praying nobody will come in. Hoping no one will hear you, and there’s no way to hide that you’re ashamed, or that you have snot dripping off your friggin nose like its a faucet.
 I’m fucking at work, nothing’s happening. Not one thing should be upsetting to me right now but the tears are fighting to come out, and when I breathe it shutters in my chest. My throat feels constricted and I’m not sure if it’s from trying not to cry or because I just need to scream. Screaming sounds sooo much better, but did I meantion I don’t want to lose my job?

Fuck.Today will be a day I sit in my car when I get home. I’m not sure if it’s theraputic but it is uncontrollable. Something about being isolated in my car…when I pull into the driveway it all just bursts out. No more silence, no more trying to regulate my breathing. I sit and hold onto the steering wheel and cry. Sometimes I play music so I don’t have to hear it. Sometimes I lay my head on the steering wheel, or I just let myself melt into the seat. It doesn’t matter. I probably do this twice a week. Sometimes it’s quick and I cry and then i grab my things and go inside.
The longest I’ve done it is a half hour.

Cars are bad places for me. It’s so easy to just swerve and hit something, and you can go so fast. Saturday me and John were driving home from the lake. I had spent most of the day in what I think of as my hazy mood. I’m not happy or sad, but barely there. It’s usually a sign that I’m about to plunge and I wasn’t wrong. On the way home I found out my plans were cancelled and I was angry. I looked out the window and everything was moving so fast. I thought about opening the door and jumping out. I don’t think I ever will, but it’s not something I can promise. I don’t know if I’m suicidal exactly. It’s not that I actively pursue my death, but more that I’m not concerned if it’s a possible side effect of my actions. Cutting, taking too many pills…all self-harm. All of it wakes me up.

I could be wrong. The only thing I know about my mood swings is that they do happen, so it’s possible something will make me ok by this evening. It’s possible that I will go home feeling energetic, and I will clean my bathroom and paint my shelves that have been staring at me for a week.
But too be honest that doesn’t happen very often.

It’s so much easier to swing low…