AMBER LOVE 11-FEB-2016 This is a difficult post to write. The tl;dr version is I need a break. I have a modeling job that I’ll somehow get through tomorrow. Next week I have that rescheduled interview for Vodka O’Clock. The professional responsibility will hopefully get through those things.

I talk a lot about my mental illness and the challenges of an aging woman’s body often and openly. But recently I haven’t figured out the words to describe what I’m going through. The danger of that is that my actions spoke for me and it’s quite bad.

Since last fall, I’ve been terrified of a few things. If you read my posts regularly you’ll know all about my anxiety and hives. Something else has been going on and I never talked about it that I can recall. I feel like I have no control.

That’s a huge trigger word for people with eating disorders, so let me assure you, it’s not that this time. I have no control in my existence. There’s no paying work. I feel like I don’t have a say in decisions. I couldn’t control Caico’s health and she died. My own body has changed and I can’t control any of that. I couldn’t control my partner’s decisions and that lead me to making a mistake that I’ll regret forever.

I don’t even know if I’m explaining this properly. Everyone feels this to a degree. You wish had motivation or weren’t stuck in traffic or could stop your shitty boss from abusing you. I feel these things through every cell and have a hard time functioning. It’s gotten me into trouble before in relationships and jobs. And here I am again, fucking everything up because I don’t know how grab the horns of any metaphoric bull and wrangle it into the direction I want to go.

I hate life. It hurts.

I constantly look up motivational quotes and play calming music. I can marathon an entire show in 24 hours because if I just sit and don’t take any actions, that’s better than typing or moving or speaking and making a disaster. I freeze in place. It’s all I can do.

And this past couple weeks I’ve been at one of my worst periods. Caico died. I hold her urn and find myself petting it like it’s her. Then I fucked up and destroyed the only intimate relationship I’ve had since my divorce that made any sense. I was in love, but it didn’t fix me. It didn’t solve anything about me. I still hurt. I still cry. I still panic. And this week there’s no sleeping, stabbing pains in my stomach, dry heaving, my heart still racing so fast I don’t know how I’m not dead.

I don’t know how to find pleasure in the things I enjoy like people, modeling, writing, and podcasting.

I want a break from life. I feel like I need to be in cryogenic suspension to keep me from ruining people’s lives while giving me time for rest. Every day the voices say my loved ones would be so much better off without me.

One minute I’m shaking and freezing. The next minute I’m sweating. I sleep too much or not at all. So much of my body hurts.

The Patreon isn’t doing well this year anyway. Since not charging tips per week and moving to monthly, it’s only a third of what I was bringing in last year. It’s not expenses have magically disappeared.

I hate life. I need time off from the little bit I have managed to accomplish.

AmberUnmasked.com DepressionIs

 

5 comments on “Time off”

  1. I’ve been where you are, and still visit it occasionally. It’s terrible and words won’t make things better. For what it’s worth, you’re not alone in this. Email is included with this if you want to talk with someone who travels their own version of this road. Hugs to you.

  2. I have offered countless times – and those past offers were rejected outright or were met with allegations that my heartfelt offer had a nefarious intent. But, I’ll offer again… As your friend, I’m ALWAYS here for you – any time. Even if it’s just to get out and have a nice dinner to get your mind clear – I’m here. I’m your friend. Don’t forget your friends who love you… We’ve not left you alone…

    • Jesus christ, Rob. I’ve never been accused of something and then told I have a friend in the same paragraph. I do not recall saying offers for dinner were “nefarious.” Fuck. Like I don’t have enough to deal with.

      • Rob, I’m not about to unleash hellfire, but if you had even the slightest bit of appreciation for my life experiences as a woman who gets asked only by married men, perhaps, you’d understand. It’s not like any of them are inviting their wives along. And now the latest one to promise that things would be taken care of legally and we’d have our own life together has left me. I’m not in a good place and certainly not in a place to argument about it. My grief is more important than someone not willing to see what my life is like or that of any woman. The moment a woman says no even for dinner, we face shit like “tease” or “friendzoned” and I have zero tolerance for backlash when it is imperative that people speak clearly about intentions. When married men immediately feel the need to tell me how their wives don’t have sex with them anymore or claim to have open marriages, I’m the one who gets hurt. And I’m fucking done.

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