I posted this as my Facebook status earlier today, and it was actually really interesting to see the responses from my friends (the few who commented). In all honesty, it was a thought I had as I was struggling through the afternoon, playing out the past few days and weeks and months in my head. What would I do if money were no issue?
What would I do if I could take months off work?
What would I do if I didn’t have to worry about paying my bills?
What would I do if I just didn’t have to worry about anything else in my life?
The answer, for me anyway, was simple. I would go back to treatment. In a heartbeat. Tomorrow morning.
I wish I could do it. I wish I could find a treatment center, and just go until the process is over. I am failing miserably at doing it here. I can’t focus on anything and I’m constantly acting on behaviours at one end of the spectrum or the other. I spend more time than I’d like to admit in morbid fantasies in my head. And I feel like it is never, ever, ever going to get better.
I feel hopeless. Unfixable. Worthless. Wasting time and space that another human would be so much more worthy to occupy.
So maybe, if I had a million dollars, I’d try treatment one more time. Give myself the benefit of the doubt that all this is just part of being sick. Believe for just a moment that this, too, shall pass.
But I don’t have a million dollars.
And I’m running low on hope.