A day in which I took my daughter to the hospital (and discovered that she’ rather more deaf than I realised), studied for more than six hours, sewed for an hour or two, and feel utterly underwhelmed by my lack of achievement. There’s just so much more to do, and I’m not getting anywhere at all.
Of course that’s not true, I know I did a lot today, but my mind just refuses to accept it. It doesn’t matter what I do, what I achieve, it always feels like not a lot of useful activity. It’s wearying.
I know that it must be part of being unwell (I’m pretty sure it’s not normal to be continually criticised by your internal monologue) and I have been told that maybe a short course of CBT might help. I don’t know much about CBT, but my last experience of it left me unenthused. I had to colour in smiley-face diagrams to show my mood every day. It never happened because I wasn’t impressed with being infantilised. I hope the next round will be better.
It gets very wearing dealing with this all the time. I lose myself in work, or cooking, or reading, or TV, for hours to get away from my hateful inner self. I have to lose myself, because if I hung out inside my own head I would be a mess. Taking criticism from others isn’t easy. Taking it from yourself, constantly, is rather a bit worse.
I wish I understood why my mind was so cruel, and why it never let up. It feels like there are no answers, only treatments that may or may not work. I like to know the why of things, but I don’t think anyone really knows why people’s minds turn on themselves. It’s frustrating, both living it and not understanding it.