It happened again, and I don't know why. After just a few weeks I find myself back in the abyss. Stranded on a leaky rowing boat in the heart of a storm of emotion fuelled by pain, fear and self loathing.
It was all going so well. Therapy was both interesting and seemingly effective, I had a solid strategy for coping which I was not only sticking to but really enjoying and I even managed to pluck up the courage to get out of the house on a date, with a real life woman. I was on a real buzz as I was riding the train home. But then it all came crashing down for no reason at all, at least none that I can understand. The early foundations I had begun to build have been as effective as an actual fact in a Donald Trump debate and when the darkness returned I had nothing to protect myself with, my defences made of tissue paper and cotton wool.
I've spent the past 2 days in bed, unable to summon the energy or courage to get up, alone and afraid that no one cares. Despite knowing that this is not true, nothing I can do can convince me otherwise. All the mechanisms I was using have fallen away. I haven't mediated, don't have the energy or motivation to leave the house to exercise and my diet has exclusively consisted of bread, peanut butter and crisps.
I know, perhaps hope, that it will pass but right now nothing can convince me that it will. My mind becomes incredibly self-destructive at times like this, manifesting itself in a self-fulfilling prophesy as I push people away, retreat into the darkness of my bedroom and abandon everything I've learned that can help me.
This is not the last time I will have a relapse, I can only hope that they become less frequent, less disabling and my ability to recognise them early and deal with them improves. It's a long, difficult journey that will be filled with all sorts of challenges, pitfalls and difficulties but every time I get knocked down, I will get up, a little bit stronger than before.