I feel as though I owe my few followers, and anyone who happens to stumble across my blog, an explanation as to why I am no longer sitting down to record every detail of my journey with mental monsters. An explanation as to why I only make an appearance every few weeks to bitch about how my job is bringing me down. Or some other common complaint.
The reason is simple: I'm living again.
I don't want to go as far as to say that I've won the war with my monsters. I don't want to say that I beat those fuckers and have completed my journey to recovery. Because I have one hell of a road ahead of me. But I have made some serious progress.
Let's recap, shall we? It has been almost two full months since I last cut myself. Since coming home from the hospital, I have not once spent the day hiding under the covers, crying, waiting for Boyfriend to come home and pick me up. I have a new job that I love. I'm doing good in the world. (Yes, I mean "good" and not "well.) In two weeks, I will be certified as a peer support specialist. Hell, I'm even toying with the idea of going back to school for my master's degree.
Not bad, right? (Also, the fact that I'm bragging about all this right now kinda shows how much my self-esteem has sky-rocketed. Again, go me!)
It's terrifying to think about how my mind was operating just a few short months ago. I wanted to die. I thought I was going to die. I was welcoming it. I couldn't see any of the beauty in the world, and I felt like I was just making it even uglier for those who could.
My monsters were strong and suffocating. They were real, but remembering the hold they had over me feels unreal. I've come so far that I can't bring myself to believe that I am the same person I was when I entered the hospital on January 28. I am a doppelganger of my former self. I am a new and improved Mary - strong and self-reliant, hopeful and happy.
There will probably come a time when I need Boyfriend to hold my hope for me again. Or when my maladaptive coping mechanisms take the reigns and steer me off my path of recovery. But I honestly can't picture reaching those depths I found myself in a few months ago ever again. I've reached the proverbial end of the tunnel of what I thought was an eternal shit storm.
But I didn't do it alone. Thank you, Boyfriend. Thank you, Dad. Thank you to all my friends and family who never let me go where the monsters pulled. I hope I'm making you proud.
