Six months have passed since I’ve written on here. I’m quietly creeping back in, dusting off the cobwebs and breaking the silence. I’ve missed writing here, missed the space to put my thoughts and feelings down. After a tricky patch, some hard ultimatums, and a little tough love from friends, I was afraid. Afraid of what being so open and honest meant. Afraid that letting people in gave them too much power over me. So I did what I do best. I ran away.
I stopped writing, stopped sharing, stopped talking. I put up the barriers, pushed people away and pretended it was all OK. That’s something of a lifelong pattern. So used to being rejected, that my only defense mechanism is to push people away first. Pretend that I don’t care, pretend that I know best.
I buried my head in the sand, convinced myself that I was recovered, that I was on the right path, that my choices were based on knowledge and not rebellion. I’ve been here before. After the breakdown, the fear hits, and instead of reaching out, I close down. I reject the advice I’ve been given. I put up walls. I push people away. I put distance between me and the world. Afraid of not being loved, of not being enough, it’s easier to be alone.
The past few months I’ve lived in a bubble. Tried to deny my feelings, tried to deny my gut instincts. And then I fell. I slipped, back into the spiraling pull of depression. When my mood goes, so do my good intentions. A few days of feeling low, a few days of not nourishing myself, of self medicating and it spirals even more.
I’ve been berating myself the past few days for being back where I was, for constantly circling around the same old shit. Then it was suggested to me that we’re not going round and round in a never-ending circle, but spiraling. Coming back to issues until they’ve taught us a lesson, but each time a little ‘higher’ than before. This break was the eye-opener I needed. To break down my barriers, to stop blaming others when in truth, it was my behaviour to blame.
The hardest part is accepting that sometimes you’ve pushed it too far. My self-preservation means I push those who love me away, sometimes too far for me to be able to make amends. I can apologise, but what else can I do. My heart is hurting that I can’t fix everything.
All I can do is to be honest. To walk my path, and admit my mistakes. To put my hands up when I’m wrong and chalk it up to experience. To keep moving forward, and let my actions speak for themselves, to show people I can do the things I said I would, and don’t worry about telling them.
I’ve been doing lots of thinking this past week. Deep thinking. About what I want and where I’m going and who I am and what I don’t want. Plans are being made, I’m setting goals for myself, standing up for myself. Finding my voice and asking for what I need. Nourishing my body and soul. I’m making a commitment to do what is best for me. That means not drinking. It means working out first thing in the morning. It means eating a plant-based diet, with little to no sugar, gluten, dairy and processed foods. Food is my biggest medicine, a clean diet does wonders for my mental health.
It feels good to be where I am right now. Self-aware, capable of seeing my faults, of swallowing my pride and apologising even if it gets me nowhere. Full of possibilities, hope, believe that I won’t always have to fight a battle with depression and anxiety. Trusting that things will work out, and most importantly trusting other people. It’s time to chase my dreams and make them my reality. Keep talking. Keep being truthful. Keep pushing forwards.