I have all these thoughts rushing through my head, but when I get to paper it all leaves me, as if floating away in the wind.
Another antidepressant to put on the shelf. This one was going so well too. That is, until I lost all capacity to move out want to move or have any energy at all. Barring random hours of the night for brief periods of time.
But I see my psychiatrist on Monday so I'll see what he has to say.
Oddly enough, I think it's been good for me to take time away from therapy. It may have not been my choice, but it's one I don't regret. Not that every day is perfect or stable, however I'm doing better than I had been in many years. I have no idea what normal is, or more apt, what my normal should look like. This is as close to "normal" as I've ever gotten and I'm likely still a far way off.
The thought doesn't bother me as much as it once would have; something I'm completely okay with. I simply don't care about finding what okay and normal should look like. Good or bad intentions aside, trying to force something, coax it out, or even slowly guiding me...well fuck all that. It was never good for me.
I've always had to do things my way, at my pace. I'm finally in a place where no one is making demands of me. My stability or lack thereof isn't a presence I'm aware of by anyone around me. Oh Frank worries enough for the both of us, but it's far more passive.
It's difficult to put into words the differences. They just are what they are and don't settle under my skin, fueling my own anxiety.
I'm sure I'll end up back in therapy sooner or later, but I'm not in a rush. There are times when I wish I had my therapist to bounce ideas and thoughts off of. Just like everything else, those pass and I deal with it myself. Contrary to some opinions, I'm actually fairly well adjusted all things considered and equipped to handle a lot of things thrown my way.
This has nothing to do with any of the thoughts I've had lately. They'll come back eventually if they were important.