“I’m glad you’re better now” – this is a phrase I often hear from people who have watched me struggle, stumble and strive on through the ups and downs of my mental health journey.
For almost a decade now, this journey has unravelled as a path of sudden turns. Sometimes they are gentle curves, easing me away from a bad day with a promise of brighter tomorrows. However, more often than not, they are cutting and sharp plunges with jagged edges puncturing me, bleeding with the pain of insecurities I’ve never quite gotten over.
There are a million things pulling me away from wanting to live – and yet I still chase life …and I’m better for it.
What usually hurts worse than the letting myself feel the pain of a bad day is the expectation of doing better. The well-intended hope from others that I’ve left behind the crushing sadness of my past is often what cuts deepest.
How do I tell people things are better but that I am not? Life is good, but living it is harder than it should be on some days. There are people around me – as few as they may be – yet loneliness stifles me. That even in happiness, I feel incomplete?
What is getting better if I still ache with the heaviness of living, if melancholia tinges every smile?
But maybe that’s what we all need to understand. Getting better doesn’t always have to mean the same thing for everyone. In my case, medication to manage my moods are a constant companion. Therapy is a chapter I will often revisit and those brittle moments where I want to leave the pain of living behind will also creep in every once in a while.
Despite it all, I AM getting better ; because I find it in me to love again in spite of heartbreak, I still choose companion even when I’m abandoned, I believe in loyalty after being let down. There are a million things pulling me away from wanting to live – and yet I still chase life …and I’m better for it.
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