Oh, I/Must Be Too Dumb To Be Proud

I’m trying not to get ahead of myself. I read back through to a…point today after everything restored. This would allow me to precisely stitch up 2012 to now; the bleeding edge of my former suffering tight against its recurrence now.

But that wouldn’t really accomplish anything, I realized. I came away with a couple of thoughts that were more important, more relevant.

The first of which is that I really suffered without a place and a way to honestly discuss my mental health. Other platforms are designed to help your <scare quotes> loved ones dispatch police to you at the slightest provocation. They are built on a community structure of dispatching authority to every voice out of sync and pitch. <I haven’t been able to just say what’s really going on in years> Of course, I learned, repeatedly, why you can’t use standard social media to be honest. I am built that way; running into walls until one of us gives <me. The older I get, it is always me> is in my bones. I never found another space like this, and as everything falls apart around us all, I wonder how much worse that made things for me.

Second, in the last four/five years I have learned that I don’t form memories during depressive periods. Not really. I guess it’s not that uncommon, but in 2012, I was as deep as I’ve been this year, and this year it felt new. Every fall into the pit feels like the first time, the worst time, the only real one. Being able to access my own suffering <sounds gross, right> gives me a window into having survived before.

And honestly, it could not have come sooner. Henry really is running out of time, and I am less determined to off myself as soon as he goes, but I would be lying if I said I don’t think about it a lot anyway. Having access to myself kind of came just in time.