Mental illness can be so frustrating. It has its own schedule. It has its own rules. It doesn’t care if you’re doing well. It doesn’t care about anything. It just eats at you.
I have been doing really well lately (which is a factor in my lack of posts lately, I’ve been trying to just bask in the good and enjoy it). I’m getting more stable. I’m finally allowing room for happiness in my life. I’m lighter than I have been in ages. I’m getting a bit more consistent and functional at work. I’ve finally been able to step outside of myself and reconnect with my loved ones. I was in such an intense depressive episode for a while there that I shut down in a lot of different ways. I still pushed myself and I clawed and fought my way out of the fucking pit of despair.
But PTSD has its own agenda, it would seem. I can feel myself slipping out of my rational mind and into the irrational and the instinctual. The place where PTSD puts me that makes everything heavy, painful, and frightening. It all feels like too much. And the weight of the trauma weighs on me again as I am forced to relieve and experience intense emotions all over again even though it serves absolutely no purpose.
PTSD has a unique way of making a person feel completely isolated and misunderstood. It convinces you that you’re alone, not cared for, and will forever be this way. It is a filthy liar. I have so much love and support in my life, but PTSD is a black hole, a void. You can give and give and give and it will never be enough. It isn’t rational.
I don’t care how hard my PTSD tries to break me. I will keep pushing forward and doing what I can to heal the wounds. I will fight it as hard as I can until I can get a better handle on this. But sometimes I get tired of the fact that I still have to fight so fucking hard. It is draining. I get burnt out. I am hoping with all of my heart that this episode is short lived.