A lot can happen in a few months. In the few months since I last posted here, I have changed my life: Pond and I separated in June. I took driving lessons and passed my test; I bought a car. There were two birthdays: I now have a 10 year old and a 3 year old.
The summer hols have come and gone, we baked and played and learned and baked some more. I think the children enjoyed their holidays. I hope they did.
My mental health is still shaky. I know my depression and how it comes and goes and it has highs and lows and cycles between the deep dark and the blue sky. Now I’m alone I’m more alone than I’ve ever been. But I’m okay with that. I’m happier alone. Life might be harder, but my heart is happier. My mind is happy, more free, alone. Mental health is important and mine seesaws, same as it ever was. I still take my pills. I take them religiously. I still have good days. I still plumb the depths. This is life with long term depression. It happens, every day, and every day comes around again.
I contemplate death every day. I think on my own death. Every day. I read a post on The Mighty this morning that summed up pretty much how I feel. It’s ironic as only this week have I been discussing how children are not black and white – neither is mental health. There are so many shades of grey. If you need help, seek it; I do – but I don’t need that kind of help all the time. And the furore surrounding such thoughts doesn’t help. Read the article, it’s linked up there. And if you’re struggling with thoughts like these, I hope your heart is eased by strength in our numbers. One day, you, and I, will wake up – and these thoughts won’t be there any more. We won’t even notice the change until it’s a long one. And then we’ll think ‘wow, how longs it been since…’ And then we’ll wonder if this is recovery. And if it is, how wonderful.