How . . .

. . . do you beat something unbeatable?

That's how I feel sometimes; it's how I've been feeling the past couple days.  That this illness or whatever that's in my head is unbeatable; that I'll live with it forever and as a result I will never really live.  And that breaks my heart.

I feel intensely detached right now.  I feel so incredibly lost.  I pray and pray for guidance and reassurance.

Something I keep remembering lately is the thought that God never gives you more than you can handle.  It's comforting but still . . . if this is what I'm able to handle (and by this I mean not only what's happened recently but all the things in my life that have led to this point) then there must be some astounding strength in me that I haven't found yet.  I try very hard to believe that there is a reason for all this and that if I work hard on myself and persevere I will be rewarded.  Maybe rewarded is the wrong word, but I'll end up happy and successful and where I want to be.

Despite all that there are still times when I'm angry and bitter and discouraged and I don't want to fight anymore.  I don't want to wake up not knowing where my head is; I don't want to have a crappy job; I don't want to be 27 and where I am.  (Those are all things I should expand on to get them off my chest but I just don't have the energy right now).

I try to tell myself that I already have been strong.  That I'm still alive, that in all of the moments I thought about killing myself and wanted to kill myself, something held me back.  That I started treatment; that even if it's taken me awhile to really devote myself to it I still did it.  That compared to where I was two years ago I am pretty far ahead.

There have been moments in my life where I have been certain I did not want to continue.  I used to pray at night (when I didn't even believe in a higher power) that I would die in my sleep and not wake up.  I used to cut myself on my legs and wish I had the strength to put the blade at my wrist and press just a little harder.  I remember thinking, just a little more pressure, and I could stop dealing with all of this.  I remember writing a suicide letter on Christmas Eve in 2009, and another one in March of 2010.

But in all of those times I never succeeded (I guess that's obvious but still).  I never was able to go through with it and . . . I take that now as a sign.  I don't want to die anymore, I really don't.

What I want is to get my life together and fight this shit until it's gone.