It’s probably more that I’m obviously still pretty hormonal, thanks to the Pill, coming off it (because being on it was an utter hoot and failed to solve the major issue whilst also giving me more spots than I’d ever encountered on my face before in my entire life as well as spots all over the rest of me which was utterly new, and putting me in a crazy weepy flaily mood most of the time so yeah, stuff you, Pill), and because it’s probably about time that PMT struck anyway, so yes, I am still in a stonkingly bad mood.
But I think actually the problem here is that – thanks perhaps to some choices I’ve made recently and some stupid things I’ve done and thanks to the fact that being OK now is not an achievement any more, it just is, and now to feel that sense of achievement I have to go out and do more and better, anyway, my self-esteem is taking a slippery downwards shuffle and that’s causing me to go out and do more stupid things and not be as good to myself as perhaps I ought to be. And if that carries on then I’ll go back and start acting like I used to when I was younger, and that will almost inevitably lead – eventually – to the doldrums that I put so much work into getting out of last semester. All that painstaking time, all those tears, all that madness, all that learning to do all the right things, go to all the things I was meant to, recording my moods and my feelings on a chart and doing weekly homework for my counsellor, fitting it all together and seeing how it all made sense and didn’t matter any more – I don’t want to undo all of that as easily as I realise I could.
So I pray more and I hold back and I try to make all the right choices and find the middle ground. Because it’s easy to make mistakes and take things too far, but it’s almost as easy to go right the other way and avoid altogether things which you should be able to take lightly and do once in a while. There is nothing wrong with swearing, with having the odd drink, with going to a pub or a bar or a club or wearing something which shows a bit of flesh, and there’s no reason to live like some kind of nunnery-of-one, and nor is there any self-respect in those choices either because it’s saying to myself that I can’t trust myself to let go and relax once in a while.
Who knew the hard work only really kicked in once you were signed off, OK, sorted, fine? I suppose it should be no surprise, really. Because everyone will tell you what to do when you obviously don’t know the answers, you never get left to flounder when you’re trying to get well, it’s once you are well and you have to remember how to go it alone – or even learn it – that’s the issue.
Sometimes I hate how honest I am here.