Things are getting tougher.

I want to get all this stress out, but I don’t want to talk about it. I’m tired of crying, and if I talk about it I’ll cry…so I’m writing about it.

You see, I used to cut. I know, I know, that’s, like, considered a teenage girl kinda thing. Well, maybe until Gillian Flynn’s Sharp Objects. Good book, but the miniseries was kinda bland. Anywho, up until eight or nine years ago, when I got stressed or depressed or manic or self-deprecating or any other such extreme emotion, I’d cut myself. Not, like, bad. Just enough to bleed. Just enough for the water to sting when I took a shower.

I haven’t seriously wanted to for a long, long time.

I kinda want to now.

Work is too much. Home is too much. SCA is too much. Bills are too much. Life is too much.

I’m fighting it, but it’s getting stronger. I kinda want to feel the rush. To bleed. To release some of this pent-up anger and frustration and depression and anxiety and hopelessness.

Yeah. That. I want that. Not that deep…just the surface. But yeah.

But I can’t. I won’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.

Maybe this post will be cathartic enough that the urge will pass. I’ll waffle inside my head on whether or not I’m really going to try to find a knife or razor blade or something. I’ll think about it, and I’ll realize that I don’t know where in the house any of those things really are. So much stuff is kinda in flux because of the move, and kinda because I’m terrible at organizing things.

Nah, I’m not gonna. I’d have to search the garage or the craft room or the bedroom, and I have no real reason to go to that much effort. So I’ll take a deep breath, type some more, and then take my nightly pills and go lie down.

I still have the stress. The depression. The anxiety. The slightly hopeless feeling. But I don’t think I’ll need release. Not like that. Not tonight, and not any time soon.

This has been a little cathartic. Not quite full-on flood-of-emotions cathartic, but a little.

Just one more day of work before four days off, two on, three off, one on, one off. That’ll help the work part of the stress, but not the budget part of it. I’m gonna have a stress buildup until the good ol’ taxes get filed and the returns come in. Pay off a couple people, pay down a couple things, get some stuff taken care of.

Gotta hold on.

Gotta resist.

Can’t release.

Not now.

Not ever again.