I know to many people the title of this post will seem redundant - if you're ill, you want to shift it, to get better; it's human nature to not want to be ill anymore, it goes without saying that I would want to get better. My journey hasn't been that easy. I've been ill for so long that it's blurred the lines a little, made them fuzzy; of course I don't want to be ill anymore, I don't want depression and anxiety to rule my life, but it's hard - if I've been this person for half of my life, what's left when I recover? If I can recover now, why couldn't I have recovered ten, eleven years ago and not wasted my life like this? It wasn't that up until now I didn't want to get better, as such, but getting better is a huge step, and it can feel like taking that final step off a ledge without knowing what's actually below.
My turning point came dancing in a dingy SU bar with a girl with blue hair (hi, Kate, if you're reading - all my posts aren't about masturbation) and laughing and singing and looking over to see my best friend and my girlfriend chatting and laughing and realising this is what happy felt like. Maybe it's not a permanent state, I'm not suddenly a whole new person - but I can't remember the last time before this I felt actually happy; not wondering when I can go home, not wondering if anybody will notice if I slip out. Honestly, maybe it was the tequila talking - but for the first time I wasn't seeing dying as the only way out; recovery was just as much of an escape route.
This turning point has been confusing - it's left me exhausted and curled up in bed; as much as I want to get better, this flash of happiness was so evident to everyone else that I worry as to whether I can keep it up, whether it was an anomaly in an ever decreasing value on my happiness chart. I want happiness so badly now I've seen it, that worrying I can't keep it up has taken over my head; because I suddenly feel as though I deserve it, but beyond that; Katy deserves it, Craig (the aforementioned best friend) deserves it, my family deserve it.
Happiness and recovery seem like such a huge step that I'm overwhelmed; I want to keep going, but what if I stumble, or take a step in the wrong direction? What if the person left when I finally get there is a me that I don't understand? But, in the same essence, I know that there's no other way now. I've come too far to let my illness destroy me. I'm clean, I'm laughing more, I even sleep sometimes (I mean mainly in the day, but you know what they say about beggars not being choosers). There's no real point in this post except I suddenly realised this week that, in the words of Bleachers, I want to get better, and I needed that recorded in case it doesn't last as long as I'm hoping that I can grip onto it for.
So here it is; I want to get better.
If you liked this you might like: Feeling Hypocritical