I have never wished there was a linear path to getting better more than I do right now. I’m like a fucking nesting doll of illness and neuroses. To an outside observer I feel like I am worse than when I started all this.
I am even more fucked up than I ever thought was even a possibility. And I don’t have any quantifiable evidence that I am getting better. I mean, I guess there is never quantifiable evidence for any emotion. But still…
I still have so many issues. I can just name them now.I still feel scared and worried and anxious and mistrustful. I still feel a sense of unnamed looming dread and hopelessness. I still have bad days where I can hardly function and can’t face the day. I remember when that used to happen growing up too. By the time I reached high school I could finally recognize what I was feeling and just passive aggressively refuse to go in.
But I guess I am better in some ways. I mean, I have names for things now. I recognize my feelings a little bit more quickly and easily. I’m starting to trust my gut feeling. I’m even starting to be able to recognize when someone or something makes me uncomfortable. And I can pinpoint what it is and even why sometimes.
I am starting to experience my emotions as they happen instead of not at all. Or a week later.
I’m also starting to see the hidden meaning behind what people are saying or doing. It’s kind of gratifying. It’s like everyone is speaking two languages. The things they are actually saying and the secret language they don’t even realize they were speaking. And up until recently, I didn’t speak the first language or even realize there was a second one.
So I guess I do see positive changes. It just takes so long. I never expected it to be easy. But I did expect it to be a linear path. Like a race. Instead, I am starting to realize that there is no finish line. Or markers to know for sure that I am even on the right path.
But I guess life is like that.