Fear and Self Loathing

I sit here nearly paralyzed from hopelessness and fear for I know not what to do. I have no clue. I took down as many books of poetry as I could find in my library—I have no order, rhyme or reason to my library—and have intended my study of poetry in order that I might master it and become myself a great poet. Hah! But alas I have lost interest and cannot find it again. It's gone. Somewhere. As if it fell out of my head last night whilst I was sleeping. I am paralyzed, as I've said. I sit here listening to music awaiting my wife to arrive home from work and alas I can do nothing. I cannot read, I cannot write except in this pathetic journal; I have no words of encouragement for myself. I am nothing. I am shit.

Why am I all the time filled with nothing but self loathing? And fear? I used to fear a lot of things. Perhaps it was the medication. Now I am full of disdain for people and for myself. I read the news and I am so much more disgusted with the world than I had been while on medications. When on medications, at least on different medications, I could cope better. Perhaps it was because I was just numb. More numb than I am now. Now, I am not numb. Not really. The current meds (little more than placebos, I think) barely do anything to subdue the mental anguish. I feel more like a raw nerve. Exposed. I want to lash out at people. I snap at Sherri more now than I ever had. Mikhail has upped my topamax and so that has helped a little, I suppose. I think she needs to up it more, though. I think maybe I need to try that welbutrin again. Something. Anything!