i'm taking a mental health day

and i've decided that feeling guilty about it kind of defeats the purpose of taking a mental health day in the first place.

so. i'm just going to listen this song over and over, because his voice is just deep enough to give me goosebumps. and it moves well, you know how songs do that sometimes. did i mention the mandolin? i definitely have a pre-established and now completely official (and documented) thing for the mandolin.

would you go with me if we rolled down streets of fire
would you hold on to me tighter as the summer sun got higher
if we roll from town to town and never shut it down

would you go with me if we were lost in fields of clover
would we walk even closer until the trip was over
and would it be okay if i didn't know the way

if i gave you my hand would you take it
and make me the happiest man in the world
if i told you my heart couldn't
beat one more minute without you, girl
would you accompany me to the edge of the sea
let me know if you're really a dream
i love you so, so would you go with me

would you go with me if we rode the clouds together
could you not look down forever
if you were lighter than a feather
oh, and if i set you free, would you go with me

if i gave you my hand would you take it
and make me the happiest man in the world
if i told you my heart couldn't
beat one more minute without you, girl
would you accompany me to the edge of the sea
help me tie up the ends of a dream
i gotta know, would you go with me
i love you so, so would you go with me

[josh turner]

i've got to figure out what to do about this weight-in-my-chest thing. it takes me so long to convince myself to walk up the stairs to work every single morning and it takes so much effort to be responsible for myself, much less other people. i don't understand where it's coming from. i mean, i do know that work has a huge part in it, but that scares me - if this is my career choice and it's completely knocking the wind out of me what the heck am i going to do with myself? be depressed for the rest of my life? i'm not exactly jumping out of my seat to start that process.

i'm also frustrated with myself for not being able to handle it. which makes it worse.

i'm just a mess.

and i should be ok with that. i've always been able to be ok with that. but i think the problem with being a mess at this point is that i don't really see how that would be a good idea at all. who's going to pull out the pieces of my mess, sort them out on the floor, and then put them away where they should be? i certainly can't. i can't even see that there are distinct objects in the pile. sometimes. sometimes i can.

and everyone around me is hurting. deeply. the patients, my friends. everyone has something on their shoulders. i don't want to add to their piles, you know? i want to be the one to sort out and put away for them, and sometimes i can, but sometimes i get in these emotionally grabby moods where all i can see is blur and all i can feel is this desperation. which i get caught up in and suppress and then it ends up spitting out on some random, unfortunate soul in a tone or a look or a conversation.

if i could just get it out before that happened i'd be fine. however. the method for getting it out never stays the same - it's different every time and i can't keep up with it. which means i'm fine and i'm fine and i'm fine and then *bang* i cling and tear away, taking a piece of whomever i clung to with me.

i really do feel like a leech sometimes. all i want to do is figure out how to deal with this cloud before it latches. that's all i want, to catch it early. to catch it before i have to take a mental health day. to catch it before i leak it onto other people.

it's painfully obvious what i need, isn't it. this whole loneliness bit has a very practiced answer. but i can't pray. not in these moods, i can't. well. maybe i should say this: i can't connect. i can pray all i want to, i mean i can talk to God, heck, i talk to myself, inanimate objects; you name it, i'll talk to it. i seem to have a lot to process. but i end up starting a prayer and getting distracted by my thoughts and ruminating some more. it's like my heart's too scared to stay in one place for longer than a few minutes.

sounds like a personal problem, doesn't it?

i always forget that you really like to answer me promptly when i ask to be convicted of my grossness. i always pray that thinking that i don't really have any to uncover. hip hip hooray for chronic denial? or maybe i should say patterned.

*chuckle*

well. i feel better. honesty helps. even if it does come out as whining. i mean, i am the victim, after all.

i'm kidding. i'd like for you to meet my friend, his name is sarcasm. he's a little bitter, but we're working on that.

holy cow. now this is a post that's reminiscent of my maroon five summer nights.