1.31.2005

Entries from my personal diary....continued

Now that I am married, I am living with someone who is beginning to know me intimately and who can scrutinize the details of my day-to-day routine.

We sleep in the same bedroom so I cannot hide there. I cannot hide my slide into this episode…it is all around us. My clothes, books and belongings are scattered all over the floor and furniture. The temporary paralysis is back and it is difficult to move my arms, my legs. I forget small important things, sleep for hours, become more withdrawn and have stopped answering the phone.

I still work because I can lose myself in it…it keeps me focused when I feel as though my emotions will scatter like marbles across the floor. My hair is unkempt and I have stopped wearing make-up. On days that I work at home, I go without taking a shower not because I want to, but because I can’t bear to be vulnerable without clothes or to have water beat down on my sensitive skin.

My husband is a kind and wise man who sees past these things, but I still think that he is more frustrated and confused than he lets on.

I’ve been through this enough times that I can recognize the external warning signs when the effectiveness of my meds is slipping. I warn him that I think this is more than just a temporary gray mood attributable to the winter weather. I begin to realize what great coping mechanisms I had developed to survive these periods of time…and how ridiculous and impossible it would be to revert to these coping mechanisms in the middle of a marriage.

How I have depended upon having control of my living space, down to the placement of spoons in the drawer and magazines on the table! How I’ve needed complete silence to keep from jumping out of my skin with exhausted tension. How not answering the phone helps me to avoid wasting any energy with social talk or helps me hide my condition from the world.

I am a hermit crab who feels in danger of losing her shell. So I keep backing into it tighter and tighter and tighter and tighter...

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