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12 Nov: the fabric of my dreams has somehow rewoven itself. i started in a visualization exercise last night, hoping to get myself at least to a place of rest. i start off visualizing myself in a garden, then proceed to a set of stairs leading down into a cellar. at the bottom is a door that usually leads to someplace relaxing.

when i tried to open the door this time, it was not solid, but more of a black slime. my hand sunk into it to the wrist. disgusted, i pulled it back, and in my hand was a flat, clear stone. "i like that," a voice said.

instantly i was in a different scene. i was me, sitting across from a child version of me. "why do you like that?" i asked. child-me smiled. "it's pretty."

what follows is a transcription to the best of my memory.

me: so you like pretty things?
child: yes. they're good.
me: what makes them good?
child: i dunno. they're just good. do you like good things?
me: of course.
child: you're not happy anymore. i don't want you to be sad.
me: what makes you think i'm sad?
child: i know when you're sad because i'm sad.
me: why are you sad?
child: becaues you're sad.
me: why else are you sad?
child: because i'm good.
me: what do you mean by that?
child: i'm know what i mean

(at this point, i was starting to wake up, and starting to panic )

me: just who are you?
child: i'm you.
me: you can't be me, we're two seperate people, two entities.
child: i'm the good part of you.
me: am i the bad part then?
child: not really bad, like a bad person (said like a child would mean) but you aren't good like me.
me: why do you say that?
child: because im the part that believes.
me: in what?
child: good.
me: good what? what do you mean by that?

(at this point i was laying awake, wondering when it would stop)

child: good things. you don't believe anymore. i can help you believe.
me: i believe in things as they are, not black and white, good and bad. that's childish.
child: it's a good way of looking at things. don't you like me anymore?

(i got up out of bed, thinking getting up and smoking might help out, but the voices kept going)

me: of course i like you.
child: why?
me: because you are a part of us. you make up the whole.
child: no, you don't want me anymore.
me: why do you feel that way?

at this point, i was walking into the computer room. i could see what was happening in real life, but also what was going on in my head. the child me got up and walked out a door behind where "we" were "talking." i physically felt like something had fallen out of me. i sat down at the computer and chain-smoked for awhile. i wrote down what i could remember and emailed it to a friend of mine. I sat in the smoky, silent computer room for 5 hours. what the hell happened? i hadn't felt quite this bad since... let's not go into that, shall we? i clicked on a few links. even did nothing for me. i read emails. got a rather nasty one from someone who doesn't like me. ho-hum. no effect but numbness.

i finally fell asleep around 3:00am when my husband came home. what's wrong, he asked. had a bad night, i muttered. the dreams again? yes, those.

we don't talk much about my mental status.

work was terrible. we had a surprise visit from higher-ups and i had to make the schedule for thanksgiving week. joyous occasion. the only good thing about the day was that i didn't have to go on the floor and sell. my boss probably thinks i'm a fruitcake. oh well. these things happen when you have 3 hours of sleep.

while on my lunch break, a friend, whom we will call matt, called. he's got an uncanny ability to read people instantly. what's wrong, he asked (question of the friggin day).

i told him.

he was quiet for a moment. he probably thinks i'm crazy, i thought. "what can i do to help?" he asked. not much. these things happen every so often with me. "that's not healthy." yeah, sure. i know that. it'll go away soon. "you're depressed." i told him exactly what he could do with that statement. i told him we'd talk later. after all, i had felt really happy for a while. there was no reason for my mood to swing back to sad so quickly -

and then jimi hendrix was playing in my head: "manic depression is a frustrated mess." thanks, jimi.

so after work matt and i drove around and talked for a bit. matt, my husband, and i are working on a project together, and matt and i were supposed to be running errands while my husband was still at work.

we took the night off.

we talked about being depressed. i told him about instances of acute depression leading to all kinds of other fun things i tried out. i told him i would be fine in the morning. "and in a couple days?" i didn't answer. we talked a while longer. he summed it up in three words: "you need help." i knew he was right. i felt a bit of hope for once in a great while. fine. where do i start? we discussed different ways of getting help. is this necessary? i asked. "YES." i couldn't go through my insurance at work; then everyone would know. and what would they think of me then? and more importantly, how is my husband going to react to this? "you're worrying about what others think. if you're doing this for someone else, it won't work. you have to do this for yourself."


once i set my mind to something, i can do it. it's like a high jump, i told him. i set the bar really high and work up towards it. "nope. it's like hurdles." i told him what he could do with hurdles. he ignored me and went on. "you'll stumble over the first few, but you'll get better at it."

matt dropped me off at my house. my husband was home. he worries about me when i'm down because he can't make it better. we went to bed. curled up beside him i told him about how i was feeling. i'm going to get help, i said. i'd like your support.

"how are you going to get help?" he asked. "we're broke."

i didn't sleep well.