I think that I had initially held out because of my loved ones. I was living for the people that wanted me to get better, but I wasn’t living for myself at all. I didn’t think that there were any good days to come, just tolerable and miserable days. My mind had spent so much time convincing me that the prospect of recovery and redemption was a joke that the experts liked to play on us because there was no hope and false hope was better than none at all. My initial thinking was that recovery wasn’t real and people didn’t get better, they just got to the point where they could be in a depressive state and still function. That was what I believed recovery was and I still think that is what recovery is. My thoughts has been altered since then though. I think recovery is now being able to enjoy the good days and endure the bad days. I lacked the capability to foresee good days before, but now I get it. Now I understand. There are good days and there are days when you can be upset but still have a good day because you got through it.

I spent so long compartmentalizing and refusing to feel emotions that I should have been processing because I dreaded the processing. I hated the idea of vulnerability and my obsession with putting on a brave face wore me out to the point of hospitalization. But even in the hospital, I still pushed the feelings down. I convinced myself that I wasn’t as sick as these other people and that I didn’t have a problem. So what if I cut my arm a couple times? So what if I sometimes just can’t get out of bed? Just because I don’t process my emotions doesn’t mean I don’t have them or feel them.

Those are the things I kept telling myself and that’s why It took me so long to get to this point. I didn’t want to face the reality of my situation and I didn’t want to let the world know that I, this person who had wanted everyone to think was strong and resilient, was actually hurting and unwell. My stubborn mind wouldn’t even allow me to get better because I was so pressed on this persona that I had made for myself.

For Christ’s sake, I didn’t even tell Charlotte I was in the hospital until I was there for about three days. I couldn’t even bring myself to admit that I had royally fucked up to my best friend. I was my worst enemy and I knew it, but if I didn’t have the facade I built then I didn’t think I had anything.

It’s truly fascinating how the mind goes out of its way to protect us but can end up being the biggest infliction of pain.

But here I am. On my way to a better state. I am allowing myself to feel things. I am trying to be kinder. I am trying to make amends for my shitty decisions. I am trying to create a better world that I can live in. My mind still ventures to that dark place often and when it does, I always have to remind myself of the good things.

When I get to that bad place, I name five things that make me happy. Even if those things small like chocolate or car rides, something that makes a person happy is justification enough for its importance.

I am becoming someone that I can love and be proud of. And yeah, there are always hiccups and bumps in the road, sometimes I take a couple steps back. But, at least I’m not just standing still anymore. At least I am moving forward, seeing a future ahead.