It’s been a while since I wrote. Some days things are better but I find it hard to take hope from this because I know how quickly I can crash and how each crash chips away and takes its toll. I suppose that makes me ungrateful and what irritating people might call a “glass half empty” person. I feel guilty but it doesn’t change the way I feel. The constant dread means that joy still seems far off even if the intensity of self-loathing and misery are dulled.
I’m on a ledge halfway down a hole. There’s no help around. It’s 50-50 whether I slip and plummet or find a hand-hold and scramble a bit closer to the light.
So I’m stable and that’s a good thing. I’m still isolating myself, I’m still haemorrhaging friends, I’m still sad, still walking slowly with head down, still on edge. Still a robot. But for now the ledge is holding my weight.