Since I was 19 I have gone through this cycle.
Unbearable, self hating lows resulting in therapy, medication and some vague attempt at getting back to a normal life, followed by a couple of years of coping and doing ok, then sometime, without fail, coming back to the unbearable self hating low's again.
It doesn't matter what I do, how much I try to help myself, it feels like this is my life's course now. Chosen for me by some higher power, just the way it's destined to be, a circle of misery over and over over again, pushing me to my limits, breaking me and wearing me down.
And here I am again, detached from real life, no knowing what feelings and emotions are my own or which ones are caused by my mental health.
I'm so tired. I don't want a life like this, but I don't seem to have the strength to change it.
If I wish I had just one ounce of emotional strength. The tiniest ability to deal with things 'normal' people deal with in life without it being such an emotional drama.
I would rather die than continuously come back to this, continuously put people (especially my children) through this.
All I want to do, is sit and cry, and not communicate. or think. Or live.
Someone help me end this cycle. Please.
Because everytime it starts again, feels closer to the last time I can do it.
Thursday, 16 April 2015
Thursday, 26 March 2015
I still haven't found what I'm looking for.
So hey you, it's been a while.
I think that, for the most part, that's a good thing.
I feel the urge to write a blog post most when my mood is feeling unbalanced and I want to sit and rationalise it, so I guess the lack of entries demonstrates how much more stable I've been feeling. I miss writing though. I spent so much time doing it when I was severely depressed and not working, now I find it almost impossible to squeeze an hour into my day just to sit and write. I notice you've all kept reading though, thank you. I hope my words have helped you in your own personal battles somehow.
I have been so busy since I last blogged. Baby Joe, but a tiny unborn bean when this all began is now crawling around at a rate of knots. Into everything he shouldn't be, eating anything he sets eyes on, he really keeps me on my toes. Sophie is, well, anyone who knows her would probably at the very least call her outgoing. She's got so much energy and character, my little bear.
I've officially resigned from my old job now, the final hurdle in putting the last bout of depression completely behind me I think. My Self Employed business is really busy at the moment, which is fantastic and really helping my confidence, although I am probably working more hours than I want to at the mo, as I don't want to turn any work down whilst it's there.
Things with DH are much better too, we have more time together, done more fun things and it has really made a difference in getting our closeness back. ☺️
On paper, and in mood, most days I think of myself as in 'remission'. Not currently suffering from depression, but always aware of it and checking there's no signs of it coming back. I have good days, bad days and sodding awful ones like most. I still take citalopram and have hypnosis once every three weeks. I don't feel any need to stop either, perhaps for fear of 'rocking the boat' (especially when my boat is such a flimsy little dingy).
I feel like any minute now I'm going to write, 'I feel great, but...' And I suppose, to continue with my pledge to be completely honest, that would be the truth... I do feel great, but.....
But... My self confidence, when it comes to my appearance, is the worst it's been in years. I'm gaining weight, not running, feeling self conscious about going out and doing things (like the pub even. Since when did I feel intimidated by the pub?!) and avoiding doing anything in large groups. Things I used to really enjoy and look forward to.
It's the only part of me that feels completely changed, I can't seem to get back my drive to exercise and the confidence to dress up.
It's really hard to explain but I feel like I can get everything back to the 'normality' of before the depression came back, apart from that energy and drive to feel better about myself, to push myself. I look back at me a year and a half ago with great envy, as if she's a different person. I cancelled a marathon. She would never have done that. It's like I don't feel I'm worth bothering with anymore.
The longer this goes on the more I convince myself it's just the way I am now.
I've thought maybe it's just having two kids and trying to run a new business makes it harder to do everything else, like running and dieting. I've thought that maybe all the sickness and colds we've had have just knocked me for six and I'll get my drive back. I've even blamed it on having the odd fag when drinking.
I also quite seriously wondered if this is, in fact, the real me and whether the old one was spurned on by inner demons before the depressive bout?
Jesus who knows.
I am, without doubt, extremely grateful and happy not to be where I was this time last year. Recovery or remission, I will take it and I will enjoy it and live every second of it. But I'd really love to drag some missing pieces of me along for the ride. If I can only find them first!
I think that, for the most part, that's a good thing.
I feel the urge to write a blog post most when my mood is feeling unbalanced and I want to sit and rationalise it, so I guess the lack of entries demonstrates how much more stable I've been feeling. I miss writing though. I spent so much time doing it when I was severely depressed and not working, now I find it almost impossible to squeeze an hour into my day just to sit and write. I notice you've all kept reading though, thank you. I hope my words have helped you in your own personal battles somehow.
I have been so busy since I last blogged. Baby Joe, but a tiny unborn bean when this all began is now crawling around at a rate of knots. Into everything he shouldn't be, eating anything he sets eyes on, he really keeps me on my toes. Sophie is, well, anyone who knows her would probably at the very least call her outgoing. She's got so much energy and character, my little bear.
I've officially resigned from my old job now, the final hurdle in putting the last bout of depression completely behind me I think. My Self Employed business is really busy at the moment, which is fantastic and really helping my confidence, although I am probably working more hours than I want to at the mo, as I don't want to turn any work down whilst it's there.
Things with DH are much better too, we have more time together, done more fun things and it has really made a difference in getting our closeness back. ☺️
On paper, and in mood, most days I think of myself as in 'remission'. Not currently suffering from depression, but always aware of it and checking there's no signs of it coming back. I have good days, bad days and sodding awful ones like most. I still take citalopram and have hypnosis once every three weeks. I don't feel any need to stop either, perhaps for fear of 'rocking the boat' (especially when my boat is such a flimsy little dingy).
I feel like any minute now I'm going to write, 'I feel great, but...' And I suppose, to continue with my pledge to be completely honest, that would be the truth... I do feel great, but.....
But... My self confidence, when it comes to my appearance, is the worst it's been in years. I'm gaining weight, not running, feeling self conscious about going out and doing things (like the pub even. Since when did I feel intimidated by the pub?!) and avoiding doing anything in large groups. Things I used to really enjoy and look forward to.
It's the only part of me that feels completely changed, I can't seem to get back my drive to exercise and the confidence to dress up.
It's really hard to explain but I feel like I can get everything back to the 'normality' of before the depression came back, apart from that energy and drive to feel better about myself, to push myself. I look back at me a year and a half ago with great envy, as if she's a different person. I cancelled a marathon. She would never have done that. It's like I don't feel I'm worth bothering with anymore.
The longer this goes on the more I convince myself it's just the way I am now.
I've thought maybe it's just having two kids and trying to run a new business makes it harder to do everything else, like running and dieting. I've thought that maybe all the sickness and colds we've had have just knocked me for six and I'll get my drive back. I've even blamed it on having the odd fag when drinking.
I also quite seriously wondered if this is, in fact, the real me and whether the old one was spurned on by inner demons before the depressive bout?
Jesus who knows.
I am, without doubt, extremely grateful and happy not to be where I was this time last year. Recovery or remission, I will take it and I will enjoy it and live every second of it. But I'd really love to drag some missing pieces of me along for the ride. If I can only find them first!
Monday, 16 February 2015
Come on, come on, come on. Get through it
Sometimes I wonder if I'm even actually ill.
Sometimes I think that all the emotions, the constant ups and downs, the good days and the bad, are completely normal and that I just don't cope with them the way everyone else does.
Maybe my childhood has left me incapable of being able to deal with emotions, in the cold house if no love I never learnt how to? Or maybe I'm just a control freak who hates anything that is beyond her control, and can't deal with emotions taking over?
I don't know. I'm so tired of it all. Even after all these years, after dealing with depression for so long, I still can't comprehend how or why my mood can change so suddenly and so drastically. I've had a pretty good period of constant positive progress over recent months. Very few tears, managing to get active again, and relationships, anxiety and confidence improving. But the last two weeks it's all starting to feel a bit bleurgh again.
I know bleurgh isn't a proper word but it's the only one that seems to express what I'm feeling. I'm not suicidal, I've had very few tears, but I do feel flat and disengaged from life again. I've not ran for two weeks, I go to bed at 9 every night and I didn't even bother having a shower today. Nothings wrong, but nothings right either.
I have these occasional moments of clarity, doing something funny with the kids, or something physical and in the fresh air, where I feel like I've shaken off some cobwebs, but they are moments, not days. I don't feel like me at all.
Some people, close friends and family, ask how I am doing and how I'm feeling and it is so, so hard not to just say the same thing all the time. "I'm doing ok thanks". I want to be honest, truly I do, but if I was they'd be as lost as I am. One day I'm great, the next I think I've recovered, then the day after that, really low, then fine again, then super great, then sinking, sinking, sinking.... All, seemingly, without rhyme or reason. I find it the most infuriating and heart wrenching thing I have to deal with, not even knowing how long a 'good' mood will last, or if I'm in recovery. It makes me want to scratch my mind out with my finger nails just to get it to give me a fucking break. If it makes me feel like that, how on earth would it come across to an outsider who was just asking a considerate question?
Far easier to say 'I'm fine', than to burden them and myself with trying to explain how I really am.
Hell, how am I 'really' anyway? I'm alive, I have my physical health, my family and my wonderful friends.
But no peace of mind.
There's a Blur song, Tender, that I love. I recommend a listen on spotify if you're not familiar with it:
Sometimes I think that all the emotions, the constant ups and downs, the good days and the bad, are completely normal and that I just don't cope with them the way everyone else does.
Maybe my childhood has left me incapable of being able to deal with emotions, in the cold house if no love I never learnt how to? Or maybe I'm just a control freak who hates anything that is beyond her control, and can't deal with emotions taking over?
I don't know. I'm so tired of it all. Even after all these years, after dealing with depression for so long, I still can't comprehend how or why my mood can change so suddenly and so drastically. I've had a pretty good period of constant positive progress over recent months. Very few tears, managing to get active again, and relationships, anxiety and confidence improving. But the last two weeks it's all starting to feel a bit bleurgh again.
I know bleurgh isn't a proper word but it's the only one that seems to express what I'm feeling. I'm not suicidal, I've had very few tears, but I do feel flat and disengaged from life again. I've not ran for two weeks, I go to bed at 9 every night and I didn't even bother having a shower today. Nothings wrong, but nothings right either.
I have these occasional moments of clarity, doing something funny with the kids, or something physical and in the fresh air, where I feel like I've shaken off some cobwebs, but they are moments, not days. I don't feel like me at all.
Some people, close friends and family, ask how I am doing and how I'm feeling and it is so, so hard not to just say the same thing all the time. "I'm doing ok thanks". I want to be honest, truly I do, but if I was they'd be as lost as I am. One day I'm great, the next I think I've recovered, then the day after that, really low, then fine again, then super great, then sinking, sinking, sinking.... All, seemingly, without rhyme or reason. I find it the most infuriating and heart wrenching thing I have to deal with, not even knowing how long a 'good' mood will last, or if I'm in recovery. It makes me want to scratch my mind out with my finger nails just to get it to give me a fucking break. If it makes me feel like that, how on earth would it come across to an outsider who was just asking a considerate question?
Far easier to say 'I'm fine', than to burden them and myself with trying to explain how I really am.
Hell, how am I 'really' anyway? I'm alive, I have my physical health, my family and my wonderful friends.
But no peace of mind.
There's a Blur song, Tender, that I love. I recommend a listen on spotify if you're not familiar with it:
Tender is the day
The demons go away
Lord I need to find
Someone who can heal my mind
Come on, come on, come on
Get through it.
Come on, come on, come on
Get through it.
Saturday, 7 February 2015
Race over?
I am contemplating admitting defeat.
With nine weeks to go before the marathon, I have not run further than 10 miles.
Training is constantly getting way laid by illnesses. This week alone I've already missed a run, and thanks to this persistent cold/flu I won't be doing my long run tomorrow either. My eye is becoming gunky and red, probably conjunctivitis so that means no contact lenses for a bit now too, and I find running in glasses impossible.
Every time I miss a run I beat myself up, even if the reason is beyond my control. The pressure of keeping up with training, building up the business, looking after the kids and contending with all our illnesses is getting to me. This isn't what it's meant to be about for me, it's meant to be about feeling confident and energised and proud of what I'm achieving, not flat and frustrated that I'm not doing enough.
I don't want to quit. Lord knows from my previous posts you can tell how much this means to me. But I'd rather not run it at all, than run it and fail again. Maybe I should focus on shorter runs this year, and try for the marathon again in 2016.
People told me it would be too much for me this year, I hate to admit that they were probably right.
I hate failing. I hate giving up. But I have to admit that not having the pressure of a race deadline hanging over me would make me feel a lot less stressed right now.
The marathon was my focus when I was at my worst, my goal to aim for and the thing to hang on to - am I wrong to let go of that now? Am I just not having enough faith in myself, or am I being realistic?
With nine weeks to go before the marathon, I have not run further than 10 miles.
Training is constantly getting way laid by illnesses. This week alone I've already missed a run, and thanks to this persistent cold/flu I won't be doing my long run tomorrow either. My eye is becoming gunky and red, probably conjunctivitis so that means no contact lenses for a bit now too, and I find running in glasses impossible.
Every time I miss a run I beat myself up, even if the reason is beyond my control. The pressure of keeping up with training, building up the business, looking after the kids and contending with all our illnesses is getting to me. This isn't what it's meant to be about for me, it's meant to be about feeling confident and energised and proud of what I'm achieving, not flat and frustrated that I'm not doing enough.
I don't want to quit. Lord knows from my previous posts you can tell how much this means to me. But I'd rather not run it at all, than run it and fail again. Maybe I should focus on shorter runs this year, and try for the marathon again in 2016.
People told me it would be too much for me this year, I hate to admit that they were probably right.
I hate failing. I hate giving up. But I have to admit that not having the pressure of a race deadline hanging over me would make me feel a lot less stressed right now.
The marathon was my focus when I was at my worst, my goal to aim for and the thing to hang on to - am I wrong to let go of that now? Am I just not having enough faith in myself, or am I being realistic?
Monday, 19 January 2015
Lets talk about sex
This weeks blog post is a little late because I've been having a bit of an internal debate about whether I could or should write it.
Obviously talking about sex is personal for anyone, but I'm not so worried about that as I am of being respectful to my husband. I don't know how he'd feel about me talking about this online.
In the end I've taken the view that this is an anonymous blog and I've only told people in my life about it that I trust and know wouldn't judge me. And besides, the whole purpose of writing all of this is to help myself, and hopefully others. I guess there's no point trying to do that if I'm not going to deal with all of the issues my depression and anxiety makes me face and deal with on a daily basis.
The thing is Sex, like so many other things, is an anxious subject for me at the moment. My sex life has not been good since my last pregnancy and the episode of depression I suffered. Sex is something I am rarely in the mood for and even if I am in the mood for it, I talk myself out of it with overthinking and paranoia. SEX is becoming a word, on a big neon sign in my mind, that flashes at me saying, 'You're a bad wife, you're a bad wife' on a regular basis. The less sex I have, the more anxious about it I get, and the less I want to do it.
My husband has never made a comment about it, and never would. He is patient and caring and I think he knows that this is something I am battling with mentally rather than anything to do with him. I hope he knows that.
He does do occasional things, to show affection, remind me that he still finds me attractive and to just put it out there that he's interested, like squeeze my bum, give me a long cuddle or a complimentary comment, but these make my anxiety peak and quite often results in me biting the poor sods head off and being even less likely to have sex than I was before.
I don't know why, but just knowing he's hinting at it, that there's a weight of expectation there, makes me feel so under pressure and out of control. It's like I only ever want to be the one that initiates it, but the thing is I never do. I don't have the confidence to.
Despite being together for more than ten years and having two children together, I feel hugely self conscious having sex with my husband. I'm conscious of how I look and what I'm doing to the point that I'm not enjoying the moment at all, just overthinking and worrying and feeling fat etc etc. Jesus I wish I could describe the anxiety I feel now just writing about this, let alone the self consciousness I feel at the time.
Three years ago, my parents split up and one of the things my dad said then, and still mentions now, is that there was never any affection there, and very rarely any sex. My husband and I have a great relationship, he is the best dad our children could ask for and he supports me through thick and thin. But what if I can't get to grips with the physical side of our relationship? How long is he going to put up with this? How long before he looks elsewhere, or we end up like my parents, divorced after a lifetime together?
I know the next step in my journey is to try to start rebuilding my self esteem and get some confidence back, so that a physical relationship with my husband doesn't seem so daunting. I just don't really know where to start!
Normally once I know what I want to write about, I can sit down and write a blog quite quickly, it just flows out of me in a big brain dump. This one has been completely different though, so much harder to write about and to acknowledge on paper how I feel. I meant to write a lot more, but I think this is all I can put out there at the moment.
At the very least, I hope one of you reading this is comforted by it, reassured that you're not alone. And if anyone has any advice on how I can break down my barriers and start to enjoy a good sex life again I would be very grateful to hear them.
Obviously talking about sex is personal for anyone, but I'm not so worried about that as I am of being respectful to my husband. I don't know how he'd feel about me talking about this online.
In the end I've taken the view that this is an anonymous blog and I've only told people in my life about it that I trust and know wouldn't judge me. And besides, the whole purpose of writing all of this is to help myself, and hopefully others. I guess there's no point trying to do that if I'm not going to deal with all of the issues my depression and anxiety makes me face and deal with on a daily basis.
The thing is Sex, like so many other things, is an anxious subject for me at the moment. My sex life has not been good since my last pregnancy and the episode of depression I suffered. Sex is something I am rarely in the mood for and even if I am in the mood for it, I talk myself out of it with overthinking and paranoia. SEX is becoming a word, on a big neon sign in my mind, that flashes at me saying, 'You're a bad wife, you're a bad wife' on a regular basis. The less sex I have, the more anxious about it I get, and the less I want to do it.
My husband has never made a comment about it, and never would. He is patient and caring and I think he knows that this is something I am battling with mentally rather than anything to do with him. I hope he knows that.
He does do occasional things, to show affection, remind me that he still finds me attractive and to just put it out there that he's interested, like squeeze my bum, give me a long cuddle or a complimentary comment, but these make my anxiety peak and quite often results in me biting the poor sods head off and being even less likely to have sex than I was before.
I don't know why, but just knowing he's hinting at it, that there's a weight of expectation there, makes me feel so under pressure and out of control. It's like I only ever want to be the one that initiates it, but the thing is I never do. I don't have the confidence to.
Despite being together for more than ten years and having two children together, I feel hugely self conscious having sex with my husband. I'm conscious of how I look and what I'm doing to the point that I'm not enjoying the moment at all, just overthinking and worrying and feeling fat etc etc. Jesus I wish I could describe the anxiety I feel now just writing about this, let alone the self consciousness I feel at the time.
Three years ago, my parents split up and one of the things my dad said then, and still mentions now, is that there was never any affection there, and very rarely any sex. My husband and I have a great relationship, he is the best dad our children could ask for and he supports me through thick and thin. But what if I can't get to grips with the physical side of our relationship? How long is he going to put up with this? How long before he looks elsewhere, or we end up like my parents, divorced after a lifetime together?
I know the next step in my journey is to try to start rebuilding my self esteem and get some confidence back, so that a physical relationship with my husband doesn't seem so daunting. I just don't really know where to start!
Normally once I know what I want to write about, I can sit down and write a blog quite quickly, it just flows out of me in a big brain dump. This one has been completely different though, so much harder to write about and to acknowledge on paper how I feel. I meant to write a lot more, but I think this is all I can put out there at the moment.
At the very least, I hope one of you reading this is comforted by it, reassured that you're not alone. And if anyone has any advice on how I can break down my barriers and start to enjoy a good sex life again I would be very grateful to hear them.
Wednesday, 7 January 2015
Am I drug dependent? Does it matter?
I am scared of feeling better.
If I start to feel ok again my GP might want to reduce my medication. I don't know why the prospect of doing so bothers me so much, but it makes me feel extremely anxious to contemplate it.
I spent many years on 20 mg of Citalopram in a reasonably calm and contented state of mind, so reducing back down to 20mg now shouldn't seem like such a big deal, should it?
I know that my most recent episode of depression, the worst and frankly most life threatening I have ever experienced, was triggered by coming off the medication for the duration of my pregnancy and perhaps, as a result of this, I now have an increased dependency on the drug. Surely reducing the dose, or coming off of it all together, will send me back into the dark?
It's a perfectly logical fear if you think about it. For two years between periods of depression I was on medication and keeping my life in balance. 8 Months off of medication and my mental health spiralled out of control.
Is it wrong to be so dependent on it? Should I be aiming to come off of it at some point? That's a debate that rages on.
Sometimes the thought of being dependant on drugs for the rest of my life, just to make me feel OK makes me feel like I'm a failure. No one suffering from a tangible, physical illness would feel that way about taking medication on a regular basis, but when it comes to all things 'mental' we expect ourselves to be able to control it.
There's an acceptance in society that we can't think our way out of illnesses of the body, like diabetes, but there is still a strange idea that we should be able to think our way out of diseases of the mind.
We can take medication to manage our blood, our heart and even our hormones, without fear of stigma, but medication to 'change our mood' is frowned upon. I see so many posts on Twitter about wanting to get off of medication, or not wanting to start taking it. Although I can relate to these emotions, I don't understand why we have them.
My anti-depressants do not change who I am. The key things that make up my personality, including my emotiveness, are still very much there. I am who I am.
BUT, without medication I am a more intense version of myself, I struggle to cope with any form of conflict, stress or emotion. That version of me lacks the ability to function in day to day life.
Medication means I can be me, but I can function and I have control (most of the time!) Citalopram has no severe ill side effects for me personally and they cause me no physical harm. No one even needs to know that I take it unless I choose to tell them. So why stop taking them? Why feel like I should?
There is a side of the arguement, that people should deal with the underlying issue rather than the symptoms of their illness - but this isn't always possible, depression doesn't always have a trigger. And for the record, I have tried counselling and therapy and I believe it did help, but it wasn't a magical cure. Unfortunately the chemicals in my brain don't listen to a well meaning, clever and wise therapist as well as they do drugs.
My fear of getting better is really a fear of getting worse, if my medication is reduced. It's rational, but it's also in my control, I don't have to reduce it even if it is suggested to me.
Yes there are people who believe that relying on medication to get through life is weak, but I'd ask them to read this blog, to understand my journey, and still think I'm weak. I think/hope that what I am actually doing is being realistic. I look at my life like the Gweneth Paltrow film Sliding Doors. One version in which I try to be drug free and another in which I accept my dependency. I only die to young in one of those, as far as I'm concerned.
If I start to feel ok again my GP might want to reduce my medication. I don't know why the prospect of doing so bothers me so much, but it makes me feel extremely anxious to contemplate it.
I spent many years on 20 mg of Citalopram in a reasonably calm and contented state of mind, so reducing back down to 20mg now shouldn't seem like such a big deal, should it?
I know that my most recent episode of depression, the worst and frankly most life threatening I have ever experienced, was triggered by coming off the medication for the duration of my pregnancy and perhaps, as a result of this, I now have an increased dependency on the drug. Surely reducing the dose, or coming off of it all together, will send me back into the dark?
It's a perfectly logical fear if you think about it. For two years between periods of depression I was on medication and keeping my life in balance. 8 Months off of medication and my mental health spiralled out of control.
Is it wrong to be so dependent on it? Should I be aiming to come off of it at some point? That's a debate that rages on.
Sometimes the thought of being dependant on drugs for the rest of my life, just to make me feel OK makes me feel like I'm a failure. No one suffering from a tangible, physical illness would feel that way about taking medication on a regular basis, but when it comes to all things 'mental' we expect ourselves to be able to control it.
There's an acceptance in society that we can't think our way out of illnesses of the body, like diabetes, but there is still a strange idea that we should be able to think our way out of diseases of the mind.
We can take medication to manage our blood, our heart and even our hormones, without fear of stigma, but medication to 'change our mood' is frowned upon. I see so many posts on Twitter about wanting to get off of medication, or not wanting to start taking it. Although I can relate to these emotions, I don't understand why we have them.
My anti-depressants do not change who I am. The key things that make up my personality, including my emotiveness, are still very much there. I am who I am.
BUT, without medication I am a more intense version of myself, I struggle to cope with any form of conflict, stress or emotion. That version of me lacks the ability to function in day to day life.
Medication means I can be me, but I can function and I have control (most of the time!) Citalopram has no severe ill side effects for me personally and they cause me no physical harm. No one even needs to know that I take it unless I choose to tell them. So why stop taking them? Why feel like I should?
There is a side of the arguement, that people should deal with the underlying issue rather than the symptoms of their illness - but this isn't always possible, depression doesn't always have a trigger. And for the record, I have tried counselling and therapy and I believe it did help, but it wasn't a magical cure. Unfortunately the chemicals in my brain don't listen to a well meaning, clever and wise therapist as well as they do drugs.
My fear of getting better is really a fear of getting worse, if my medication is reduced. It's rational, but it's also in my control, I don't have to reduce it even if it is suggested to me.
Yes there are people who believe that relying on medication to get through life is weak, but I'd ask them to read this blog, to understand my journey, and still think I'm weak. I think/hope that what I am actually doing is being realistic. I look at my life like the Gweneth Paltrow film Sliding Doors. One version in which I try to be drug free and another in which I accept my dependency. I only die to young in one of those, as far as I'm concerned.
Thursday, 1 January 2015
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