Today is day 12 (in a row!) of being stable. And this, my friends, is actually pretty fucking huge. Why? Twelve days of being stable out of the last four and a half years. Yep. You read that right. Twelve days out of the last 1,642 days.
But finally, some stability.
Now, you wouldn't believe how happy my therapist was to hear this news on Monday. My psychiatrist too. (I'm treatment resistant). Let's just say they were through the roof.
It's nice to feel okay, even, stable. . . happy even. It's a big difference. My hubby and son have noticed the change in me (my son especially), and I'm sure it's a nice change for them, too.
But really, I want to talk about today. Because today has been a bit weird. Today has been a bit off. I've wanted to cut. All day I've wanted to cut. And now, now I feel down, empty, and questioning whether my life truly has meaning. In other words, depressive symptoms. They're mild, and I'm hoping they stay that way, because I don't need to relapse already. Not after only 12 fucking days. Stupid fucking brain.
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