one year

I told myself I was going to write something today.

Then I told myself to fuck off.

September 9th is more than just any other day, and I am stuck somewhere between obsession and denial.

One year ago I wrote this. Minutes afterwards, I unraveled. One year later, I am still living under the shadow of September 9th.

How am I?

"I'm actually excited for Fall this year!" I told the Mr. one sunny morning, but the first chilly day brought me to my knees.

I'm only working part time now because my head is still fucked up and my boss can only be "understanding" about mental illness for so long.

I adopted a dog from a rescue. She curls into my body on the couch. She doesn't move, not even to wag her tail, but her brown eyes stare into mine with so much love my throat hurts. There are ghosts in those eyes. I wonder if she sees the ghosts in mine.

I gained twenty pounds.

I started seeing a new therapist. We've met once. It should have been twice, but I cancelled my appointment this week. I hate starting from the beginning.

I've noticed lately that my name is being included with others under the label of "people who have their shit together." It makes me laugh. A sort of laugh that feels like a knife between my ribs.

"What medications are you taking?"

I can list the first three, and then I pause. I don't remember the names. They are a line of identical bottles. I am a research project. "I'm going to prescribe you this blood pressure medication." My psychiatrist tells me. "Sometimes it helps." "Let's try this pain reliever. It's usually prescribed for seizures, but sometimes it helps." I just nod because I don't really care. It's just another pill I have to swallow.

"I really don't understand why he prescribed you that." Says the nurse in Urgent Care.

"I'm not a psychiatrist, but you really shouldn't be continuing to take that medication." Says the physicians assistant at my doctor's office.

"You don't want to be on those pills forever, do you?" Says the specialist inspecting my achey knees.

Just once I would love to list my medications and have someone simply say, "Thank you."

I miss Molly.

I miss my brother who decided to drop out of college and live with my parents, 1000 miles away.

I miss Bill. He keeps asking if we can get tea together. I keep not answering my phone.

I miss the lies. I miss being the only one who knew.

I am happier. I am. One year ago compared to today is like night and day.

But I'm not convinced that recovery really exists. There's no such thing as "better." There's not some magic day where you can declare yourself "healed."

There's just life.

Some days you laugh with your friends, you play with your dog, you bake a cake, and you smile.

Some days you can't get out of bed, you spew the cruelest insults you can think of at your reflection, you wish with everything in you that you'd just fucking killed yourself a year ago.

But I didn't.

So here I am.