Things are still hard.
Anxiety haunts me. I catch myself grinding my teeth off and on all day. Taking care of Baby Bananaface is a special challenge; the hubster and I are very cautious about overwhelming me and limiting my time as primary caregiver. Household responsibilities still daunt me but are becoming more and more feasible, believably achievable. On certain days, when I see scissors images of scratched wrists flash through my mind. The same can be said for plastic bags and suicidal ideations. Panic descends upon me and takes my breath away every couple days or more frequently. Sometimes I can whisk it away with mental shepherding but some days I just have to ride the wave and wait out the sickening pangs of discomfort that wrack my body and bring forth an odd chest pain so specific to my panic attacks.
My mind-my life isn't quite my own yet; the depression is still in residence, but I've come to a place where I've begun to see the dark instead of being consumed by it. I have just enough light for a little bit of perspective every now and then. That might not sound like much, but it's amazing.
Instead of being swamped, paralyzed, and disabled by the Darkness I'm able to rescue myself more and more often. I sometimes feel capable and adept in moments when I can carefully redirect my morbid thoughts to more positive or at least harmless trajectories. I am able to express myself more frequently, whether that means basic communication and expressing my thoughts or expressing my often disregarded feelings, even dredging up the worst, the darkest thoughts and bringing them into the light; it's a victory of sorts.
Working past the silence, the isolation, the sacrifice that takes me past a healthy lifestyle to a darker, self-loathing, a slow death that has hijacked my living for far too long is a much appreciated mark of progress. I still have a hard time battling back the sticky tentacles of depressive logic and feelings of defeated heartbreak when I contemplate where the Darkness has taken me and all the challenges I've experienced over the past several months but tiptoeing closer to the Darkness for a moment as I acknowledge my new perspective, my new outlook, my new light on the situation seems necessary and worthwhile.
It's a little light, true, but my little light is enough to let me see how far down I've gone and how I've climbed out a bit now and that makes me feel pride and love and hope... things that I haven't felt for myself in so long. It's a tear-worthy thing for me to feel these things; happy tears but tears nonetheless.
So that's where I am. I'm still sick but I'm having moments of feeling well again. I'm still fighting; struggling some moments but succeeding in others. I don't find myself aiming for any particular success or mark of victory, instead I recognize that I am in for a fight the rest of my life and that weight is an intimidating, upsetting, but happy burden as I build up the strength and determination to wage this battle for my wellness.
I know I've had posts like this before, but that is how this disease works: over and over again you must dedicate yourself to living, to battling back the illness, to whatever new treatment you're trying whether it be medication or therapy... so I'm sorry if this is repetitive or redundant, but as much as this point in my current recovery is a revisiting is also a new exploration of self as well.
I'm still feeling the Darkness, I'm still "in the shit," I'm still hurting, but I'm also feeling a stubborn hopefulness and pride and grit that makes me want to stand up and beat my chest and kick and scream and fight and you know what? that feels worth a post to me. Worth some introspection, some tears, some fears.
I'm worth it.
Thanks for reading :o)
I hope others out there are feeling good or at least better if they were/are feeling poorly themselves. You have someone wishing you well! Keep fighting.