I am not ok. I try to pretend otherwise, try to make amends for conversations that only ever existed in my head, and for pushing people away as soon as I get close. I want to be better. I am also terrified that I am just.....not trying enough. I was doing better before my surgery. I was medicated, was keeping up with standard hygiene. Hell, I even was attempting to eat regularly since it was the only way that I was able to keep strength together, even though it was only barely enough to survive.
Since I had my surgery, and have subsequently been able to eat more regularly, I have failed to do so. I find food annoying most times, in that it takes too much effort to make and enjoy when it is only for myself. I hardly find myself desirable to other humans for interaction, which I know annoys my people to no end, as they do everything in their power to make sure that I know they love me dearly.
I do know that I am loved. I am extremely lucky in that regard. I just have a hard time believing that I deserve it, as I don't love me. I want to say I haven't in a long time, but in truth I never really have. I keep up the necessary facades, ensure that the people who love me know that I love them dearly for it, do whatever I can to avoid them realizing just how badly I am doing until it is too bad for me to keep up the pretense of normality.
Today, I am awake after sleeping only 4 hours, after sleeping only 3 hours the night before. I am awake because it got into my head that I absolutely needed to go through the clothing in my apartment. And I worked on it, gathering dirty and wrinkled clothing, bed sheets, and blankets, going through the other various things that were in my room, and placing non clothing items on my bed, until I burnt out and now am too overwhelmed to clear off my bed. I am no more tired than I was, just unsure of the next step for what to do. I made the mess better and worse at the same time. It was done in an effort to have some sort of control over my space, which is too small for me, and so difficult to manage in its smallness due to lack of space.
I have recently been talking to a guy who is pretty awesome apart from not being ready to be in a relationship due to his own situation, which I understand and accept. I haven't really shared my issues with him very much, because to be honest, who the fuck wants to deal with someone else's neurotic tendencies when they have their own problems to deal with, and because I actually like spending time with him, so I would like to avoid pushing him away. However, I know that I still do push the boundaries on what is ok and not. I am not ready for a relationship either, as much as I desperately want to be, if only because I know that I do better when I push myself for others. And in some ways, this friendship, or whatever you want to call it, has helped me get better, and more ready to be in a relationship.
It has pushed me to realize that I am terrified of being completely better, which sounds defeatist, but consistently is how mental illness works. I recognize that it is stupid to think that getting better would be bad, but I also recognize the amount of work that it will take to get better, and then have no idea who I am without that inner mess.
The simple, yet unhelpful, truth is that I have absolutely no idea what will happen if I get better, when I get better. I know that I need to get better. I know there is no excuse to not do so. However, I know that it is a terribly difficult journey, and that because I have been mentally ill for as long as I remember, I do not know who I will be if I don't have those issues clouding my judgement and affecting my life. I don't know if my wellness will affect my compassion, my caring for others. I don't know if those parts of me are the ways I have managed to cope with not wanting to live but being unwilling to die. I don't know if they are how I try to find some way to feel like I am deserving of the love that I receive from the people I love.
All I know is that I am terrified. I am a mess. And the first step, that would be getting back into regular medication, and possibly therapy, which is always the hardest step for me. It is the step that requires me to have someone almost force me into it because when it becomes necessary it is hard for me to get the motivation, or believe that I deserve the help, which I don't have or believe.
