out of the blue

The Black Dog returned...

around 4-6 weeks ago. How can this be?  I was getting better and better everyday. and if you looked at my progress by weeks, it was leaps and bounds growing after each therapy session.  I was signed up to start my group therapy.  My husband and I finally signed up for that much needed but very expensive personal trainer to see twice a week.  Enjoying our brand new carpet and super stylish L-shaped couch, taking care of the house, my family, and myself. Even getting re-acquainted with old pals like my guitar and daily journal sessions.  

I remember thinking, 

"This is what it must feel like to be on the mend. This is my last time I let depression stop my life. The dog days are over. I am FINALLY on my way after all my hard work. I finally mastered and subdued the Black Dog. I finally earned the tools that dig me out of my major depressive disorder episodes before they get too deep."

But then again,

no.

I won't go into dirty details yet of how ravaged this last wrestle with the Dog left me. (but trust me I will, because that's what his blog is about for me. honest to God truth).  I even stopped going to therapy.  Which is to me, and my husband, and anyone else who supports my recovery, a cardinal sin. 

Tomorrow is Therapy Tuesday. I am going to therapy. I am finally publicly presentable, with clean clothes, clean hair, brushed teeth and am out of the crippling pain and fog that episodes send me deep into.  This was a BAD BOUT.

I just want to sign a contract saying it'll never get that bad again. but I know that I am doing all I can to get there with out putting my John Hancock on the bottom of a statement claiming I have total control and no bad thoughts will ever affect me again.

that statement would be a lie.

but I want to see how long I can go.  Before this last very RUDE interruption into my healing psyche and life, I was thinking 3 months would be a good goal.  3 months of living life, getting out of bed, practicing self care, and staying present. and no missing appointments. of any kind. It's July 31st.  So it looks like the final day of goal time will land on perfect day to celebrate my hard work. Halloween! and then I can dress up like someone else. Maybe someone who doesn't have mental illness and I'll pretend it was all just a dream...

a photo I snapped while visiting the always windy, moody and choppy Rockaway Beach a few minutes drive from home. Seems fitting. Even a beautiful view can be skewed by the view of eyes behind a pane of sadness.