I really am quite sick. And it’s not an illness I can cure. Depression is going to be with me for probably my whole life, and holy crap does that scare the shit out of me.
I’m scared about what I can do, what I can’t do; what my life is going to me like. I’m scared that some things just won’t be for me and I’m really scared about having to accept that.
I’m scared that I’m going to be on the verge of a breakdown all the time. I’m scared that I’m going to push people away. I’m scared about how angry I am.
I’m scared that I just can’t hack it.
But I suppose I don’t really have any other option except to carry on.
Over the last few days, I’ve had some inspiration for a novel and I’m really excited about it. It’s an incredibly personal story and I hope that it’ll help me work through some things. But I’m scared I won’t have the time or energy to pursue it, and I won’t have the means to research and do it justice.
I was making such great progress and then everything crumbled again. I suppose at least I know it’s possible to get back there. But I feel that I’m trapped by life and circumstance. But maybe that just an excuse.