I didn't do multiple things I meant to do at work today.
I didn't shower or work out today.
I didn't eat lunch today.
I couldn't do my full voice work because my voice was cracking out of sorrow.
Where I couldn't keep it up because I was crying internally.
I've entered a depression spiral.
Depression is keeping me from doing things.
Not doing things is making me more depressed.
Being more depressed is making it even harder to do things.
So I get in greater and greater pain.
The pain is growing.
It's bipolar disorder, so I get reprieves.
I had a great manic moment between the morning and now, both at the peak of the depression.
That manic moment had me discovering a name for my specific facet.
We're all still Bree. I am still Bree. We're Bree first, facet second. I'm Bree first, facet second. But I discovered the name Muse as a subname for Ranger for me, the writer, the main fronter of us.
But we're just.
We're getting worse and worse.
The shine of the light was nice while it lasted.
That happiness and sheer giddiness of having discovered a name that brought me joy was incredible.
Back to pain.
Back to suffering.
Back to despair.
I'm getting worse.
We're not getting better.
We're slowly getting more and more in trouble.
We're in need of help.
What do we do.
We don't know.
I wish we did.
We're...just. Just, not okay. Really not okay.
We've no reason to be this bad, but we are.
It's bad enough to be noticed by family (who are going to freak out when they realize I didn't eat lunch).
It's bad enough that I'm pretty sure even coworkers have noticed.
I don't know what to do.
How do I live.
I'm in pain.
I have medication, it helps; I'd be way worse without it.
I have coping mechanisms that manage it fairly well.
They're failing because it's just. that. bad.