I would have cherished some help from my friends

 I didn't realize that I was clinically depressed at first.  I believe my trauma-induced anxiety disguised my underlying problems.

So in the year or so while I could not get off the couch, and my self-critical nature went out of control, I got significantly sicker.  By the end of the first 12 months, I was barely functioning.  I was addicted to my anxiety mess...not working, sleeping 16 hours a day, and withdrawing from the last of my community.

I didn't expect to be alone, afraid, and angry.  I didn't understand the increasing self-hate.  I consumed a lot of cannibis edibles, which helped by masking and relaxing the manic tension I felt every moment.  Edibles don't necessarily create a desire or ability to connect with others.  They don't reduce that instinct...they just don't magnify it!

So, there I was, on the couch, alone, for days on end.

I used to have a life partner.  She was absent through all this, of course.  She doesn't want to have anything to do with a wreck like me, and she had joined a polyamorous club in Montreal by then anyway.  As they say, she couldn't care less.  I mistake her sometimes still for a person who might be concerned about my health. She can't.  She has her own needs to take care of.

So so so many hours alone on my couch, unable to get up.  So many days.  Weeks,  Months.  Now I understand the what and the why better than I did then.  Maybe  "how to recover" will continue to reveal itself to me. 

To me            I am a victim

By me            I am empowered

Through me   I am accepting

 As me            I am one and I am whole

My closest friends are all gone.  They were never my tribe anyway, and I knew it.  Cerebral.  Not an empath in the group.  Not a lot of independent thought regarding my failing medical condition.  I would have thought one of them might have said "you seem to be in trouble.  Can I make myself available to help?"

Obviously not talking about you, Dee.  Or Joel and Angela.  Or Jon.  Or Matt and Peter.  Or Diana. Or especially Lucretia.  Or Sherrye. Or Myles.  And I'm not referring to my professional guides Yael, Barbara, or Cody.  And I apologize forever to the others who could see me curled up in a ball and tried to help--I am thankful, but immobilized by PTSD.  Answering the phone was impossible.  It's still unlikely that I'll be able, but sometimes now I surprise myself.  I am capable of answering sometimes now.