"To pray for what I thought were angels ended up being ambulances"

My hard time is back with avengence. I wake up in the night in terror and fear of being alone (even though Ronald is right next to me), I cry before bed and almost have a panic attack, I wake up exhausted.

Yesterday was hard. I went to sleep Saturday night horribly sad, and woke up with the same pining sadness. I wouldn't/couldn't smile, I stared off into space and thought those negative mix tape thoughts that always drone in the back of my mind. Can I do this? Can I get through the day? Can I live? Wouldn't hiding in bed be so much easier? Wouldn't it be easier to not exist? I crave it; crave non-existence, crave hiding under the covers in my self-created fort of a cave. But I got up, because I had to get up. Because he was there to remind me to get up.

I tried to get through the day and resolve to be positive. We went on a date, and I had to stay busy to keep the thoughts from taking over. We walked around, I felt indecisive, we saw a movie. I tried to stay awake, I tried to focus on the words and the pictures, it was hard.

We came home and I took a nap and didn't feel the pain just for an hour, I realize more and more that sleeping is the only tangible escape. I woke up and had the blues come back stronger, and the panic creepy creeping like a spider into my mouth and I can see it there and feel it there but no one else can. I know we are going to die, and soon. I feel like I can tell the future. All of this is just a mistake in thinking, just a strange synapse. I took a klonopin, it hardly helped. He rubbed my back and I tried to fall asleep. I finally did and had those dreams I can't talk about and now I'm awake and thinking "can I get through today?"