Self-awareness is frightening.  Does the process ever stop?

What process does stop?

Does the pain inside my head and chest ever stop?  Will it?  If the past is my future, I’m pessimistic.

But that’s the whole point of self-awareness, isn’t it?  To understand the past—to remember and tell it—so as not to repeat it.  I fight every day to be less ignorant, more open-minded.  And yet my highs don’t last, and my lows keep coming back.  And the fear is constant.  Would I be less afraid if I turned to denial and self-ignorance?  If I would be calmer, I’m not sure it’s worth the price.

I’m lucky right now.  Today, again, wasn’t a bad day.  I didn’t feel anxious in any significant way; I just tapped my heel some, nothing obscene or troubling as sometimes happens.  The Clonzepam is still causing some drowsiness, but I’m fighting it.  I’ve become active in my own life again.  I exercised yesterday, and I’ve been eating.  I haven’t smoked, either.

I’m glad I’m seeing my psychiatrist tomorrow, so I can discuss all this with her.  I particularly need to address how the early nightfall, exacerbated by Daylight Savings Time, may affect me in the coming months.  I didn’t see the sun at all today.  I have no doubt the following months will bring many different kinds of hells.

Sam would say I’m being dramatic.  I’m not.  I’m sure you know the pain if you’re a depressive, the perfect tortures your head invents and makes you suffer as the days go on.  Every breath is a burden.  Every approaching second bleaches your face and drains your energy with the mere prospect of more pain.  Every event proves you’re a parasite or—worse—a bad person.  God!  How do we make it, we depressives and bipolars and the rest of the suffering lot?!

…I wish I could trust this high to stay, but I’ve been here before.  To me, that’s the worst part: I can’t trust myself.