There is a part of me that’s laughing at me right now. It knew the happiness and calmness of the past few months wouldn’t last, and it knew that my depression was coming back no matter what I did. The few bad days I’ve been having have been little warnings to let me know that no, not everything is ok, and yes, the problem is you and it will not go away.
I am tired. I slept badly last night, plagued by nightmares. I didn’t want to drop off because I knew what was coming- the moment when you wake up and wonder what the fuck is the point. Of course, there are things I am trying to live for but I know now it’s only a matter of time til I make a mess of them all again and my illness starts to take over again, like it is already trying to do.
I am fighting the dark passenger again, and this time in some ways it’s worse. I don’t have the same grace I used to with my family or J- I know I must seem better to them and I am not going to keep on whining. I am not making them worried again. They all have enough to worry about.
I’m just wondering this time round how long it will take me to get back to the hole I was at the bottom of in May or August.
My birthday is tomorrow. I couldn’t care less. I have my first therapy session tomorow and I am positive that the psychologist with tell me that she can’t deal with my fucking whining and put me back in the system, ostensibly to “find me better help”. I know the truth.
The truth is that PTSD is wreckng my life and I can do nothing about it any more.