I know this blog is supposed to be about food, but I really don’t think I can do it tonight. And I thought it might help to tell you why. I’m a little worried about myself. Maybe a lot worried.

I’ve struggled with mental health issues ever since I was a little kid. About 6 or 7 years ago, they got severe enough that I finally realized that they were mental health issues, and I had to get some help. And even though I have help, sometimes it still feels like a constant struggle. I’m incredibly, unbelievably jealous of the people who go to a psychiatrist, get a diagnosis, and find relief in the first med they try. That is not me, oh, how it is not me.

It’s been a rough week here at the TNS house; we discovered that we’re in a financial hole neither one of us was prepared for, and that means no trip to Italy and at least another year, if not more, before I can see my family again (and it’s already been three), in addition to having to dig out of the financial hole. I’ve been trying to keep a stiff upper lip, but I just can’t do it. I’m anxious pretty much all day. I cry off and on. I haven’t really eaten anything in two days

Maybe there’s nothing to be scared about, maybe this is a natural reaction to the week’s whirlwind of shit. But when you’ve been struggling with mental illness, you lose perspective and a basis for comparison. It’s hard to tell genuine tears from depression, or normal worry from anxiety. I’m bipolar, and it’s been years since I’ve had stable moods. Right now, I can’t tell what I’m dealing with, and the idea that I might have to fight through yet another relapse is, frankly, terrifying and overwhelming.

So I’m scared. I’m scared that this is a relapse. I’m scared that I will never be able to find a med(s) that will work for me. I’m scared that with this new financial situation I won’t be able to afford my psychiatrist. I’m scared that I can’t make myself cook tonight, that I’m not excited to do something I love to do. I’m scared and tired of the constant struggle, and I’m scared of how it will end. I’m scared of never having a normal life. I mean, I’m not excited about making the blintz casserole that was supposed to be tonight’s comforting smackdown meal. A BLINTZ CASSEROLE, PEOPLE. WHY AM I NOT EXCITED?

I could really use my mom and dad right now, but I can’t have that. But I have Brian, and I have you guys, so there you go. Both of you are forced to listen to me.

Hopefully, this is just me being really, really sad about what happened this week, with a hefty dash of hormones thrown in for good measure. But I just felt like you should know what’s going on. I’m worried.

ETA: The lovely dinner my husband just made me. Ridiculously amazing husband + valium = actual food intake, hooray!

Also, thank you so, so much for all your comments and emails.ย  It’s overwhelming in a good way.ย  I can’t respond to all of them right now, but I’m reading (and re-reading) every single one.