A week in Purgatory

I've often referred to time living with my mother as being in Purgatory. It's not quite Hell, but it certainly isn't heaven. Every time I have stayed with her for more than a day, in the past, had been because I failed at something- school, a relationship, a job, or life in general. My mother's house is filled with terrible memories of my childhood traumas, and of my failures as an adult. I had hoped this time would feel different. My relationship with my mother had improved over the past year or so. I wanted this time here to be a healing time, a time to reconnect with her and some of the few positive memories of my past. I knew I would have no responsibilities, and that she would take care of me. Unfortunately, it did not turn out like I hoped it would, and it wasn't my mother's fault. In fact, she has been nothing but kind to me for my entire stay.

But my brain could not wrap itself around the fact that it was temporary, that I was not going to be stuck here indefinitely, and that Matt was going to pick me up at the end of the week. And it sank in that most of my friends in the area had scattered to the wind, and those I had reached out to didn't care to visit because of the weather. Since I've been here, I haven't bathed or even changed clothes until this morning. Almost two feet of snow has fallen over the week. In this semi-rural area, it feels like I am isolated from everything. It will only be a matter of hours, now, before Matt comes to take me home, but it feels like days.

I would love to believe that once I get out of here, I will feel better, but I know better by now. This anxiety and depression follow me everywhere I go. Yes, it will be a comfort to be home with Matt and my kitties, but I know the illness will still be there, just as it's been for the last month. Even my anti-anxiety meds don't help. I don't know what to do anymore. I am desperate to feel better. I don't want to die, but I feel like I'm dying inside anyway.
Gods, please help me. It's not fair to me or anyone around me that I should be like this. I know Matt misses me, but I am sure a week away from my illness did him good. He's bringing Kate and Paul. I will be glad to see them, but I don't know how I am going to get through the weekend if they want to go out. There is always something around the corner to dread, isn't there? I want to stop thinking and feeling like this more than anything in the world. I am tired of writing about it. I am tired of living it. I am just tired.