Taking back the blame for my mental illness

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No one is responsible for my PTSD nor my severe depression. These illnesses are mine.  The trauma that induced them is mine. You cannot get your hands on me now.

 

My ex yawned as I crashed and burned.  That's her style and one of her least appealing characteristics.  She yawns when others talk about their trauma or pain.  She does not process guilt or shame. 

 

My ex earned no credit for my happiness (I created 100% of our happiness and shared a lot of it with her).  Even moreso, she gets no blame for this two year mental health collapse.

 

My lethargy is mine.

 

My inability to make decisions is mine.

 

My inability to exercise after a long life as an athlete because I fear my broken heart will burst—that fear is mine.

 

My expensive treatments and therapies are mine. (I've wasted far too much of these valuable self-saving resources trying to understand why those we love don't show up when we're in trouble—in the end, my ex was a choice I made, and she doesn't get any credit for my willingness to be vulnerable, to love, to share.  That was all mine too.)

 

My loneliness and fear of others is mine.

 

If this is all I have, I owe it to myself to not let you come anywhere near my tiny space where I hide.  I will fight you to the death for the remaining cheap tokens of my life. These are my treasures.  Keep your dirty unhealthy hands away.  I will bite, kick, scratch…whatever it takes. 

 

 

 

My anger over the lost past, and my eternal anxiety about surviving each day

 

 

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