WARNING: There are parts of this post that could potentially trigger. Please read with caution.

That is just how life is at the minute. Got to keep going. With the full stops. Those four words are so so hard to think about right now, let alone act upon. 

I’ll start from what I think is the top. 

Still non-operational for the boat, but allowed to some training sessions and events so long as they’re not by the water. Fair enough – I don’t particularly trust myself to be in a situation where I could be in charge of someone’s life at the minute and they certainly don’t. I’m enjoying what I can do though and I’m enjoying seeing the team again, even though everyone seems to know exactly what’s happened. But hey, we deal with it week in week out; there’s not a group who could understand better. They have all seemed genuinely happy to see me again.

Still self-harming, but far less frequently. It’s been 9 days now, and I’m really, really trying. It’s often at the forefront of my mind – what it would just feel like to get the knife and cut – but I’ve abstained. I’ve kept it at bay. Not sure how, but eh, whatever I’m doing is working. 

Suicidal thoughts… yeah. They’re a very prominent part of my day. What caused this post was me lying on my bed imagining a world without me tomorrow… it looked good. So good that I was planning: planning what to do, who I’d message before, where, when… I caught myself. No plans are going to be enacted. But it’s there, ready. I don’t know what it would take, but I felt an almost relief as I thought about it, a strange euphoria. It was a good feeling.

A couple of weeks ago I was so full of fight, so full of want. I wanted to live, I wanted to win. Now? I feel empty, done, drained of every last drop of will and there’s nothing left. 

I have a suspicion this has happened because within those two weeks I’ve experienced a bit of a major game changer in terms of mental health. All of my treatment and care has revolved around my problems starting when I was 13/14, with depression and mild anxiety at the root of it all. However, nothing has really worked over the years, not properly or permanently, and I’ve been a bit of an enigma. Anyway, Mr Doctor who I’ve been seeing since I was 136’d about 4/5 weeks ago now sent my notes and a referral to someone who specialises in complex mental health stuff (I can’t remember exactly) and I had a telephone conversation with him. 

It lasted for nearly 2 hours. He asked all of the questions and got all of the answers. 

The result? 

A new base for all of my mental health problems; a diagnosis of severe social phobia which he believes without much doubt goes back to when I was 9 or 10. 

3 or 4 years before anything was actually diagnosed. Until now, there hasn’t really been a root or a reason for my mental health problems, they just kind of started and deteriorated. 

Now though, the social phobia explains everything. Absolutely everything. The depression, the psychosis, the amnesia, EVERYTHING IS EXPLAINED. It gives us a base to work from and he was confident that if that side was finally dealt with, everything else (with gentle nudges) would become faded – it would never go, but it would become next to insignificant. 

… and I was right, I needed to write that down to give me a lift. Yet again, I was anticipating ending this on a downer but… how can I? 

My battlefield now only has one foe and I am becoming fully equipped to stamp on his butt.  


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