To put it simply, the past few weeks have been difficult. My depression progressively worsened, I had a bit of a breakdown, hit a low point, got rescued from said breakdown by an officer, and because of said breakdown I was put on a 72-hour hold for the second time in my life, which was then extended for a few more days before the psychiatrist deemed me stable enough to leave just a few days ago.
I missed a few days of school, I did a lot of introspection, some soul-searching.
Funny how it takes a crisis for me to actually take time to do something like that nowadays. Years ago, when my depression dictated pretty much every waking moment of my life, I did a lot of introspection. I guess what differed between myself then and myself now is that I'm on the other extreme: instead of living in the past and all my traumas and mistakes, I'm living decades into the future where I'm constantly worrying if I'm heading to where I want to go.
Since a few months ago, my depression got harder for me to just "wait it out." I treated it as if it were a case of writer's block, but with every other aspect with my day-to-day functions. You can already see how that played out.
It's not just "writer's block." I haven't even been able to write anything, in addition to playing the piano, or talking to friends, or pretty much everything else I found enjoyable. Everything just lost its charm and even getting up in the morning was a chore.
Once I left the hospital, I decided that enough was enough. I no longer wanted to stay in a place like that. The psychiatrist was worried that I might end up having another--
I'll just say it like it is. If I'm ever going to get better, I need to just stop skirting around the issue and sugar-coating everything. Because this is not alright. I'm not okay. But it's okay to not be okay if I'm working on finally being okay.
The psychiatrist was worried that I might end up having another suicide attempt. Because she's worried, now I'm worried.
Something is wrong, and I'm finally sick of it. This isn't just me without having any inspiration for a few months, it's affecting every area of my life and I need to find out why.
So for the time being as I'm recovering and trying to put back the pieces, I'm going to relax and ease up and not feel obligated to fill my schedule just for the sake of "I'm busy and productive and I have my life together" façade.
I won't have a word count post as this is happening. In the future I will, but for the meantime I'm just figuring out where my playing pretend ends and "Jodee" begins. That doesn't necessarily mean that my blog posts were filled with lies, it just means that I want to be in the right mindset going forward. To me, writing has always been fun, but if I end up associating it with being a chore and a nuisance, well... I'm afraid of turning one of my biggest coping strategies into something I end up refusing to do no matter how much someone bribes me.
I'm also taking some steps and making big changes. I'm going back to therapy, I'm reaching out to friends and church and family more, and I'm using the resources available to help me out of this. Because I don't want to go back into a psych hospital. I've been inside of the ER too many times and I'm just tired of it. This is not the kind of life and future I've wanted, and because of that I want to get better. No, I'm not anticipating that my circumstances will change, but I'm hoping that I'll be able to manage myself better.
Finger's crossed. Hope that third time's the charm.