I've made it no secret. I'm not doing well mentally. The amount of mental health days I wind up taking, are almost as exhausting as working on improving my mental health. I'm becoming more and more of a self-saboteur. I'm in a rough place.
I'll admit what I think many people who struggle with mental health have admitted before, which is simply, I'm tired of living. If there's a "safe spot" somewhere between always thinking about how I want to end my life and barely keeping my head above ground on a daily basis, that's the space I occupy regularly.
In case I haven't already mentioned it, my mental health issues make it incredibly difficult, near impossible, for me to be a consistent/reliable person.
Anything related to being on some sort of schedule usually doesn't work well for me or anyone else involved. I panic, in response, I tend to focus on the very next thing on my schedule, and nothing else. In the end, I've worked myself into a tizzy, so much to the point, I'm an exhausted mess.
I've been working on blog projects and still trying to figure out how all of "this" works.
Who reads what I write?
"Reach your audience.", they say, but who in the world is my audience? I can "see" who my followers are, but it doesn't lend me any help with which direction to go.
My blogs are mainly personal stories and informed opinions. I don't have a College education. I'm not an expert in any field. By all measures, I shouldn't even be bothered to write anything at all. Yet, here I am, two years later, still blogging, still writing.
The only thing keeping me going is knowing I can't think of anything else to do.
Recently, I had a major relapse in mental health.
I remember I was working on a monthly update post and then suddenly, I broke down. I was planning on making good with my idea of telling stories about the harder times in my life. Times when I had been bullied, harassed, or abused in some way, form, or fashion.
Without going into details, it's much harder than I thought it was going to be.
It's been a little over two years since I've been formally discharged from the local BMU (Behavioral Medicine Unit).
In discussing the importance of mental health and the progress I've made, I'm going to write about who I was before I lost almost everything.
I lived in my own one bedroom apartment. I had recently bought my first new car. After paying for power, a cell phone, other utilities, and amenities, I had money left over from the job I worked.
I was completely independent for over 7 years.
When I was fired from my job for attendance issues, largely in part to my deteriorating health, I discovered I wasn't just broken but, empty as well.
Chapter Five 