A year & a half, still healing…

Two years is creeping up and I have mixed feelings with my progress…
Today is a bad day….struggling to see the point.

Thinking back to those months up to and that day itself scares the bejesus out of me. Memory of the events has long been blurry, but the intense feelings haunt me. Nightmares and twisted dreams that I’m back there, choosing a different path for my recovery, having hit bottom only to fall deeper. Even vivid flashes of my possible demise.

After being offered a bed on the psychiatric unit or daily out patient treatment, I chose to be with my brother. My idol, my voice of reason and his calming presence, a place I felt safe. My mum and brother, rocks amongst the boggy terrain I found myself in. My mum was/is a constant strength, keeping me afloat, my head above the surface as I involuntarily tried to draw myself deeper.

Daily visits from the emergency home care team a saviour, like David to my Goliath like mind fog and torment.

But where have I come?? How can I rate my progress of healing?? Am I failing at moving forward?? How far should I have come?? Questions I dare not ask other than rhetorically. Does anyone even have the answers I seek with trepidation?

I guess I should view any progress as positive…..yes? Maybe….I don’t know. The line in which I try to follow to get better, be better and feel better is still a littered mess.

Looking back, I do see a difference but the road continues to curve and twist, potholes a plenty. I go days now, even weeks of happy smiley me. Tis good. I guess this is why I question my journey on low days…..why the vast separation between good and bad, smiles and frowns?

Hopefully one day the answers will be there. The solutions will illuminate themselves and a peaceful brain will prosper…

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