je.suis.prêt
Hjälp mig
- Jul 9, 2022
- 107
Nowadays, I manage to brush my teeth and leave the house. Regularly.
Eating is somewhat better; I haven't had a depression meal™ in a while.
I've even been to the gym a few times, and found interest in things again.
All of my other habits still need some work, but overall things are slightly better, and I can definitely say that I currently do not want to end my life.
The same cannot be said about the me from a few months ago; the person who could not leave the house, the person mired in hopelessness, the person who bought 2 bags of SN incase 1 wasn't enough.
The mental state I was in when I both joined this site, and ordered the generous – if I can even use that word here – serving of SN was completely different to how I currently feel. To make a long story short, there was an issue with the postal service, and the SN took much longer than expected to arrive. In the time it took to arrive, I came to notice the gradual reduction in the amplitude of the cycles inherent in my mental state; hysterical hatred for my existence at the peaks, to troughs where I resigned myself to the few hollowed out comforts I knew – isolation, good (read: unhealthy) food, and porn.
These cycles have stabilised, in part due to the positive interactions I get to have with people on this site – you know who you are, thank you <3 – and so as I mentioned, I currently do not want to end my life.
The SN arrived yesterday.
I was not glad – as I may have been if it had arrived months ago – nor was I scared of it. I was taken aback by the sight of it on the table. Depression and other mental health issues are not tangible, but for me, the little cardboard envelope from IC felt like a tangible souvenir – again, I'm unsure about this comparison – and reminder of how I felt. I don't even want to open it.
Maybe I should safely dispose of it to show myself that I am serious about recovery?
or maybe keep it as I might change my mind later on.
Maybe I should frame it and keep it as a morbid art piece as it carries essays (plural) worth of significance and memories of a certain period of my journey through life.
I have come to realise that Je ne suis pas prêt.
Eating is somewhat better; I haven't had a depression meal™ in a while.
I've even been to the gym a few times, and found interest in things again.
All of my other habits still need some work, but overall things are slightly better, and I can definitely say that I currently do not want to end my life.
The same cannot be said about the me from a few months ago; the person who could not leave the house, the person mired in hopelessness, the person who bought 2 bags of SN incase 1 wasn't enough.
The mental state I was in when I both joined this site, and ordered the generous – if I can even use that word here – serving of SN was completely different to how I currently feel. To make a long story short, there was an issue with the postal service, and the SN took much longer than expected to arrive. In the time it took to arrive, I came to notice the gradual reduction in the amplitude of the cycles inherent in my mental state; hysterical hatred for my existence at the peaks, to troughs where I resigned myself to the few hollowed out comforts I knew – isolation, good (read: unhealthy) food, and porn.
These cycles have stabilised, in part due to the positive interactions I get to have with people on this site – you know who you are, thank you <3 – and so as I mentioned, I currently do not want to end my life.
The SN arrived yesterday.
I was not glad – as I may have been if it had arrived months ago – nor was I scared of it. I was taken aback by the sight of it on the table. Depression and other mental health issues are not tangible, but for me, the little cardboard envelope from IC felt like a tangible souvenir – again, I'm unsure about this comparison – and reminder of how I felt. I don't even want to open it.
Maybe I should safely dispose of it to show myself that I am serious about recovery?
or maybe keep it as I might change my mind later on.
Maybe I should frame it and keep it as a morbid art piece as it carries essays (plural) worth of significance and memories of a certain period of my journey through life.
I have come to realise that Je ne suis pas prêt.