My room is such a mess. There’s a pile of clothes off to my left that is the height of my bed, an ever growing mass that so succinctly captures the clutter that clogs up my brain at the moment. I tell myself every morning that today is the day I get rid of it, do the laundry, make my space less chaotic, but it’s still there.

I’m always urging people to be honest about their feelings and emotions, that it’s such an indicator of a strong person sharing their weakness but i don’t do it enough myself. I worry that it will come off as attention seeking behaviour or a depressing read too often repeated that it becomes exhausting to those around me. But I’m struggling, and that’s okay. I’m in therapy twice a week and as hard as it is sometimes I love it, it’s saved my life.

I’m in the middle of a medication change and I’m feeling it, my tolerance for practically anything has gone out the window and i’m sure i’m not fun to be around at the moment. some public stories about mental illness seem so picturesque, that once a person admits to the battle they’re facing and get help things start to improve, but I’ve learnt that’s not always the case. Recovery is such a long road and it can get tiring.

After struggling with addiction problems this year I just passed 100 days sober and thought I’d be over the moon but i just wasn’t. Apathy is something you get used to, but when it rears its ugly head in moments of success it’s hard to feel fully human. It’s hard to be shut off from the full spectrum of emotion you see everyday on snapchat stories and Facebook posts.

But it’s okay, I savour these moments of clarity when i accept everything for what it is because they could be gone in an hour. For now I tell myself it’s okay to be this way, and sometimes that’s all you can do.


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