Rant Space

Over the past five weeks or so I have been struggling a little more with identity, who I am, and who I want to be. I am used to my depression states. I know when they are coming, what it could mean for me emotionally, and usually how long they last. Usually my states of depression don’t go past a few days or a week. I know how to regenerate my body and let myself feel these emotions. I let myself take a few days to not function, but then I know, whether I am still in pain or not, that I need to get up and try again. This time though, it was different. I have spent about the last month in a depressive state. I have been having multiple anxiety attacks, sleeping often, having constant negative self talk, and for the first time my life truly felt over in a sense. I look in the mirror and I don’t see me, I don’t see the person I want to be, and I don’t see the silver lining of “its all gonna make sense…”

Because it doesn’t. Not one part of my life right now is adding up. I see no bigger picture, no better plan. Everything is all jungled up and I feel as if it’s my fault. I am the one to blame for how some of the things that have been happening in my life are turning out.

And as I have been reflecting on these feelings, I am trying to remind myself that I am still a child. That even though I have no clue what the fuck I’m doing — maybe I can at least be proud that I am doing it.

It’s just apart of the journey that doesn’t get talked about. You get thrown therapy and pills and you surround yourself with people who tell you that its going to get so much better — and I’m sure it will — but that is future talk, not what the present is. No one talks about the nights you feel alone, or the negative thoughts that come back EVEN when you are doing better. No one talks about how it doesn’t stop, or how it is a constant battle to try and keep up with all of the fucked up thoughts in my head. We hear about “better” — whatever the hell that means.

I used to think recovery of anything, whether it be of eating disorders, depression, substance abuse, etc., was such a beautiful term. I used to think that the process of recovery associated and resignated with the word “cured,” but it doesn’t. It’s all up and down and some days I am recognizably better, while others I find myself still crying myself to sleep wondering if I am back at step one again. Sometimes I still see the kid who saw herself in the car reflection, sometimes I’m someone who’s the worst version of herself, and sometimes I see the girl who’s doing the best she can.

Usually I have a game plan, but I think my therapist and I both are a little out of ideas.

Not really sure the direction I wanted this post to go, but none the less trying to cope in a healthy way by writing.

-- And if no ones told you today, or recently, or ever, I'm extremely proud of you. For wherever you are in your journey -- you are still here, you are still fighting <3