I slip into a funk
Become unwilling to act
Determined it is futile
Destructive thinking
Guilt self loathing at the forefront
(It’s always there but
Sometimes in the background
A constant muted melody)
And I only pull out when I get fed up
Tell myself to get with it
Stop wallowing
But I hate the act of standing up
I know I will wear out
And do so before I’ve barely moved
Three steps, when I need a mile
So I resist the getting up
But at least for those few steps
I might have hope
But the up and down exhausts
Hope raised and then descent
Tired tired
I’m always tired
Hello, fellow BP2 named Jen here, read your blog today while I was doing some online soul searching. I've thought about doing a similar type of blog so it feels like an insight into how I might approach such a task - commit for half a year, then quit. At any rate, I wanted to mention two things; 1) I hope you are okay (relatively speaking of course, I know we don't usually stay okay for long, by that I mean I hope that the cancer is still in remission), and 2) I have learned recently about the connection between intestinal health and mental health (I had no idea that seratonin is produced in the guts and not in the brain). Since then I have been more proactive about taking care of my guts instead of ignoring the pain and discomfort in favour of trying to solve my problems with depression with cognitive behavioural techniques (not to say that mental self care is less important, I just wonder if stabilizing my IBS might serve me better in the long run).
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