A day when things seem to be getting a bit better. I’m well aware this is probably just the upward slant of the eternal up-and-down wave I’m living called anxiety and depression, but there’s no doubt the upward slant feels a heck of a lot nicer than the downward one.
I’m kind of afraid of this kind of thinking though; the past few weeks have been so dismal, and what if I’m not really on my way out of this horrid low? What if it will just keep on going, and going, and going…?
Argh. I hate the way toxic thoughts circle like vultures, sensing a weakness in my mood and attacking it mercilessly. I was feeling okay when I started this post. Now I’m tense. Welcome to depression and anxiety! It’s nothing new really.
I’ll just keep taking deep breaths to help dispel the knot in my stomach and distract myself with other thoughts.
My Dad said something to me the other day that made me think a lot. He said that while some people do recover from mental illness like this, some don’t. But sometimes they learn to live with it, and they learn how to live with it. As in, they learn how to grow accustomed to the fear and the pain and the despair and still exist in spite of it. And more than that, they find ways to exist almost outside of it. They can enjoy life.
I don’t know if I’ve ever really believed I’ll recover fully. I don’t know if ‘full’ recovery even happens. And that’s always panicked me. I hate the thought of living like this forever. That thought sparks panic and all sorts of dark feelings. But anyway. Thinking of what my Dad said about not recovering but learning to live anyway gave me hope, in a weird way. Because that’s something I can actually aim for. Full recovery is a bit farfetched for me to envisage, at least for myself. It seems so far off that it’s unreachable. But I can learn to face my demons and laugh at them. I can feel the panic in my stomach or the hollowness in my heart and live on still. I can do that.
And hopefully I will.