I have never felt more vulnerable than I have writing the 32 drafts of this post.
I have not written anything in months. I did not feel the need to. I should start posting about my recovery, but all I know how to write about is sadness.
I have been struggling again. I do not want to talk about a relapse, because by typing this out I have to admit that it happened. I have to admit that I caved in a moment of weakness.
My anxiety is currently out of control. I cannot cope with the panic of the world on my own. When I was younger, I used to have nightmares most days of the year about fire or ill-health or something terrible happening. I could not sleep alone in my room for years because I was so afraid I would wake up and everything I loved would be gone.
I am back here. I am back not knowing what is happening or how I can calm myself from the panic when everyone and everything around me is barely together.
I have had more panic attacks in the last 48 hours than I have had this entire year. I am barely staying afloat and I do not know what to do. Everyone is struggling so I struggle to talk about anything but the truth is my mental health is at the worst it has been for months and months. It feels like it will only get worse.
I am a closed book. I do not talk about anything unless I have to. I am better today than I was a few days ago, but I cannot hide my relapse from myself. I cannot type without seeing it, I cannot sleep without remembering it. I cannot do anything anymore.
Everyone I know and love is struggling. My worse childhood fears are becoming a reality.
I do not know what to do.
I cannot breathe again.
