I wish it didn’t always come to this point, the breaking-apart point, the wondering when it’s going to stop point, the point, always the fucking point.
I have had problems with motivation. I have thought about staying in bed long after the alarm goes off; I have reset my alarm five and ten minutes later, creeping up on the day like a thief.
If you say that I am weak because I get to this point, I say that I am stronger than you can understand. The sheer fact that I haven’t just thrown myself off a cliff earns me some tiny bit of respect. I have wanted to hurt myself; I have wanted to make it all stop. Not now, no. I am slightly better than the last iteration. Now I drive to relax, and before I would panic behind the wheel so much that I couldn’t even back out of a driveway.
The simplest things give me the greatest difficulty. I have managed to pay my bills on time and get through the workdays because I know I need these things to survive. I can’t let them drop. But other things have fallen, or rather, I have let them fall. I am not proud of these. I am, in fact, humiliated by their presence.
So if you think it’s easy to get through a day, to put meaning in your life, to sleep without nightmares, to sleep at all, to breathe and not feel guilty for the air you use, consider yourself lucky. You can see my failings as weaknesses if you want. I am just myself, struggling by as I know how, hanging on, avoiding the looming suggestion of medication because yes, I’ve heard the lecture a hundred times before, it’s not about your strength or lack thereof, it’s about chemistry, and I don’t believe it. I wish I would believe it. It would make this bullshit so much easier.
I don’t ask for sympathy. I ask for understanding, and maybe a little leeway. Working through this is my priority; writing countless journal entries about my troubles is not. I’m doing it, managing, hanging on, maintaining, whatever you call it. For me, it feels like hanging on, and it would be so easy to let go, and I hate that ease with all my heart. I am a stubborn person, even while suffering. The fight is on.