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I too have been a wounded animal. I am here today at this point in my recovery because I did what I had to in order to heal. I stopped attacking those who reached out to me. I accepted responsibility for the role I played in getting wounded.
I know only a vague concept of the past hurts you have experienced and the wounds that never fully healed because of it, but I was not the one who actually hurt you.
The quiet moments expose all the bloody, broken parts of me that have yet to heal.
I love order, I need order, I crave order, yet I cannot always have order in my life. Grief reminds me of that.
I dress up my self-destructive behaviors all fancy in an effort to masquerade them around as an attempt to cope with my challenges, the justification being simply that a negative coping skill is still a coping skill, so what’s the real harm in the end?
It started off small because to me a cookie is never really just a cookie, it’s the gateway to the entire box of cookies.
Just as much as those with cancer, diabetes, or HIV, people with a mental illness need resources for survival that include professionals to help them manage their symptoms in hopes of having an opportunity at a more fulfilling life.
Someone can faithfully take their medicine, regularly see a therapist and even attend support groups, but sometimes all of that just isn’t enough and we need a higher level of care. What’s the shame in that?
