Nervous

I know it’s getting bad because I’m hitting a writers’ block. I don’t even want to write.

I know it’s getting bad because I’m always on edge, and scared of people. I believe they will ostracize me. They will leave me.

If I’m alone by choice, then I can’t be rejected. They can’t leave me if I’m already alone.

But withdrawing and loneliness is like putting a band-aid on a broken bone. It’s not addressing the underlying problem. It is a quick fix that actually doesn’t fix anything at all.

Days go past and I can’t help but feeling like I’m wasting my life away.

Not quite miserable and sobbing, but also not happy either. I just am. In a numb sort of way, not a mindful sort of way.

I’m starting to accept that this is getting too hard.

Today is the (second… Or third… Or tenth) beginning of my recovery. After too long without consistent therapy I’ve finally found a DBT therapist I click with. My meds have been adjusted and I’m hoping with all my heart that the antipsychotics will work soon. Because this is hell.

I read through a lot of my blog posts and realized it really has been a tough year. I don’t think I’m good at many things but I can say I’m good at downplaying the status of my mental well-being.