And then sometimes it comes back

What I think I don’t tell you about, or maybe what you don’t want to hear, or maybe it’s just what I wouldn’t want to read from other people is how although yes, just this morning I was sitting on the bus thinking about how nice it is that I’ve been nearly a year without being on antidepressants and haven’t I coped well, is that I still get it, it still slams into me and while I can feel the buildup coming, there’s not much that I can do except brace myself and realise that in an hour or so, I’ll be sitting pretty much unable to move and everything will make me want to cry, and there’ll be big tight knots in my stomach. The knots are made up of dread, the dread that I feel knowing that every night I have to go back to a house where there’s a person I can’t stand because she hates me and Sebastian so much, and the dread of working with another person I can’t stand all year, and knowing that I have done no work for a long time, adn that I can’t seem to bring myself to do anything, and that even the projects that I wanted to do I leave unfinished, and that all I want to do is get roaringly bollicksingly drunk and then I know that it’s ten years tomorrow and I wish wish wish that I was still in therapy for times like this, and fuck, I just want these fucking attacks to fuck off and die, I’m so not going back on celepram again – you can take your dry mouth and dizzy spells and shove them up your ass, but I’m just scared that it’s never going to change, I’ll be fine fine fine until I get bad again, and I don’t want that, and I hate that the smallest things upset me and that every single insecurity that I’ve ever had seems to be on parade for me lately – like Seb staying out all night, or even just the fucking fact that no one has joined hubris in a couple of weeks. And these are just the examples, and yeah, there’s probably more underneath the surface but it just all piles up and I just fucking hate it so much. And if I was still seeing Kalpana, she’d tell me off for thinking that I SHOULD be able to deal with everything, that I SHOULD be able to function as a normal human being does, and just do my job, and go home, and eat vegetables, and do my laundry, and hang out with my flatmates, and spend quality time with my pet, and maybe see my friends or like, call up that boy, or whatever the fuck it is that ‘normal’ people do, and she would say that I shouldn’t use the word ‘should’ and she would say that I shouldn’t use the word ‘normal’ and I would say that I feel like I’m some kind of fake, and that I’m sure there are people out there who actually have real problems and she’d say something about ‘real’ and I know I’m making her sound like some kind of terrible air-quoter person, which she isn’t, and I also suspect that this entry is making me sound like my problem is that I should still be in therapy and am not, but it isn’t.

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