Backslide into PTSD and depression

Haven't moved all day. This is day 3 of this recurrence. Trauma scars your DNA and damages your brain. Of course it will surface when it needs to. It's an injury as real as an amputation or lobotomy.

When there are no crutches, you don't move. Endorphins are for wimps who don't know better. The "I was sad and I ran up Castle Peak and now I'm better and I was fast and I have a nice outfit" crew. OMG. Blinded by their own reflection. Searching for their 10th blog reader.

If you haven't spent half a day unable to get up to clean the kitty litter as your one goal, you are simply not qualified to comment.

I'll be glad when I get back to my healing trajectory, even if that simply means the kitty litter was successfully cleaned—and very little more.

Today I tried to start strong. I drove to the local farmers market—but when I got there I started crying, and couldn't get out of the car. I came home. I've slept through three business meetings. I'll deal with the mess when I'm able. It's still only 2pm. Something good could still happen.

People who know depression do not write self-help books. First, we know how useless those flimsy narcissistic fluff pieces are. Second, we are immobilized for months or years or generations. 

People who survive depression may write a memoir. They do that not to help the living. They do that because they need to know someone else understands their truth first hand, and is still alive. They need joint identity to heal and to continue. Someone who understands that you hope to brush your teeth—maybe even soonish. 

We have seen death and we’re terrified, but we are together like a cosmic AA group. I haven’t met you but we are one, I assure you.  I need you, too.  

People with lifelong talk therapists they depend on with their lives. People who know and can describe in perspective the possibilities of ketamine or Zoloft—and how great they are but how little they actually accomplish. Maybe like me you’ve spent time inside an institution?  My love for you is even richer.  You take gentle good care of your soul. 

My deep diving travelers.  My secret community I cherish. I literally know your pain, and when I breathe out, I also release some of yours and mine and ours. Only together, in silence, does the breath of the sufferers continue. In for me, out for every single last one of us.