“my recovery is not going well today. i’m struggling to hold the line, to hold onto a reality that isn’t the voices pounding inside my head, asking to be let out to play.
“play” is a misnomer, because when the mental illnesses come out, it’s no longer playtime. my brain gets busy while my body gets quiet, in an agitated, pacing kind of way. i become exquisitely unproductive.”
“i want to rip the sun from the sky. i want to silence the songbirds. i want to destroy the bits and pieces of happiness that are floating around outside. i want it dark and cold and rainy, so that everyone can share in the mood i woke up with today.”
“people always say the hard times will pass. they tell you that the bad memories will fade. i can’t remember a time or a problem when someone didn’t offer up those expected words of wisdom: it will pass; time heals (if you let it); things change.”
“i went to bed for two hours this afternoon because it was the only thing i could think of doing that would stop me from eating everything in the kitchen and then throwing up. the urge has been growing significantly this past week, infecting everything i do and everything i think.”