Another (sort-of-brief) post, slightly happier than yesterday (today’s is sponsored by lamotrigine and a glass of red wine).
I am very blessed to have people in my life who are supportive, even when they don’t understand why I feel the way I do. I am lucky to have met my mentor, who doesn’t understand my depression, but understands the pieces that contribute: the anxiety, the heartbreak, the horrible thoughts.
I am grateful for my mom and my sister, who take care of me, even when they don’t realize it.
I am grateful for the friends who are tuned in enough to recognize the signs of my insanity and immediately check in with me to offer support, physical or emotional, whether I want it or not.
I am grateful for the anonymous voices here, who have shown me I am not alone.
I am grateful for the strength to get help, to seek out and return to my psychiatrist and therapist, which never would have happened in the past.
I am grateful for the third parties, the brave and brilliant authors of my favorite books, whom I have never met but to whom owe the last bit of my sanity.
Finally, I am grateful to have experienced a love so real that it is this hard to lose.
This is not the post I had hoped to write today, on what could have been my 7th anniversary. I’ve learned two lessons from this: I am rubbish at planning my life more than six months out, and “what could have been” is only useful in stories.
On my old blog, I ended every post with a simple, annoying, clichéd mantra: Live like you mean it. I think it’s time to go back to that way of thinking, and find out what it means for me moving forward.
Thank you to everyone who’s been reading this, and offering your support. It means the world to me that you would help me fight my personal demons, which I have always been so ashamed of admitting. Thank you so very much.