Oh, Monsters. There you are.

Joan Jett has nothing to do with this post,
but I liked the picture.

I feel like shit. And it really shouldn't surprise me. I start my new job tomorrow, so of course my monsters were like, "Oh, something important is coming up. Time to fuck with Mary again!" So they jump out of hiding to bitchslap me with a depressive episode.

Just this past Sunday night, I was sitting at home with Boyfriend feeling nothing but pure bliss. There on my meditation pillow, I was able to look around and see shelves of my favorite books, meaningful art that I created, a life that Boyfriend, the love of my life, and I have built together this past year and a half, and the hope for a future that radiates promise and passion. All while listening to a relaxing yoga station on Pandora, sipping some bourbon, and reading a motivational memoir. I was totally submerged in the happiness I didn't think existed when I was at my worst at the beginning of this year.

Fast forward two days, and it feels like January all over again.

I feel like I'm letting Boyfriend down.
I regret my job for not being more lucrative.
I wonder why I have been given the responsibility to help other people through their struggles when my own keep me bedridden for an extra two hours in the morning.
I loathe the mirror and these extra "healthy" pounds.
I am embarrassed that I ever entertained the notion that I could be a successful writer.
I regret my stay at the hospital and despise it for costing as much as it did.
I exhume bitterness and bury courtesy for the family I wish I had.
I idealize surrendering.

The inevitable backslide. I think, deep down, I knew this was going to happen, but another part of me thought that with all the drugs they have me on, I should be able to handle anything that comes my way. Or I should just be numbed to all the triggers that send me sinking. I guess this is what I get for being cocky, for thinking I had this shit figured out. For thinking that I was stronger than my mental illness.

No, I am not ending it like this. One thing that I have confidently learned over these past many months is that I leave the table with the last feeling I wrote stuck in my head. That is why I always end my journal entries (not so much my blog entries) on a positive note. Even if it is just forced bullshit that doesn't actually help, at least I can convince myself that I didn't raise the white flag without first raising a middle finger to the monsters.

PEP TALK: Get it together, Girlfriend. It's not even 11:00. You still have plenty of time to at least clean the house, and maybe even get a little writing work done. Hell, you can even make dinner tonight and show Boyfriend that you are useful. If you don't finish everything you have on that massive list of yours, at least you can make a dent and feel better going into tomorrow. You don't have to be perfect. Repeat that aloud. You don't have to be perfect! No one is. Now post this shit, center yourself with some meditation, and start the day over. It's not too late.

And go.