Talking to myself

Talking to myself


How many times have I sat here looking at a blank page, I am sure I have even used this opening in a post before. I want to write, I enjoy writing, the problem seems to be that I do not feel I have anything of value to say. Being realistic I am in a good place right now, I think of it as my recovery phase. That part of my cycle when I rebuild, when I start to have hope again. I still have some moments, periods of self doubt, periods of self hate, fatigue, anxiety, frustration, procrastination. I try each day to achieve more, I have started to look forward.

Next Tuesday I will again go and see my GP, firstly because I have come to the end of my meds supply. Secondly, so I can find out what happens next. I know what my problem is, I know how it affects me. I have even written my own care plan to deal with it, should it all go like it has in the past. I am so very scared of the future. Now, when I should be enjoying the lull in my condition all I can think of is the next time. Will there even be a next time? I am now so self aware of everything I do, everything I feel, how can it happen again? It might not but I do not think it wise to think that way.

Right now I have to think that what is, is, and always will be. The only way I can be sure that I can stay on top of it, is to never forget that I am ill. You see, the slipping has already started to show. I have stopped keeping track of my mood, my meds are no longer taken in a timely manner, I have become distracted. Failure to adhere to routines, to finish started projects, to stay on top of life events, these are warning indicators.

For me to function properly I need to have order and routine. Otherwise I will start to neglect things, let them snowball. Bills will go unpaid, things I start will go undone, gradually all these little worries will build. Not completing things will nag at me, reinforce the feeling of failure. I need to be challenged and stimulated, but not over tax myself. I become absorbed in things, but new things come along and I get absorbed anew. I have always failed so far in life, I am so scared that it will happen again.

I have made plans for a future, plans I have made before and failed to achieve. This time I must have faith in myself that I can see them through. Admitting I am ill helps, in some strange way it gives me a sense of hope. I know that being an arse was my way of dealing with my problems, I hope that in time I can become less of an arse and a more useful individual. I do not want to be the person I was, but habits are hard to break. Changing yourself is possible, but not easy. Finding the balance between useful self analysis and destructive self criticism is hard to find.

The page is no longer blank, I did have something to say, even if it was only to myself.

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