I thought we’d got past this. I thought we were now able to deal with minor stresses without you reappearing. There really is no need for you to be here, you are not making things any easier or better, your general malaise and joy sucking skills are not required.
Please to be leaving, and don’t let the door hit you on the way out.
No love at all,
It’s going to be OK.
You’re going to be OK.
“Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise” (Victor Hugo, apparently) or something. You know that this will ease, you know that you will feel better again. Hold on to that.
Think of how long you have been going between depressive episodes recently. Think how well you are doing at fighting off the minor glitches, the low ebbs that could so easily bring you crashing down.
Sure, it will come back again, and again, but fight for the good days. The good days that are coming more often now, there’s so many more than back in the deepest, darkest, depths of depression. You are beating it, slowly, but you are beating it back, and though you may never be triumphant, you may never live a life free of this, you will beat that black dog back until it is left snarling and growling at the door, unable to get all the way in.
You got this.
Loads of love,
I wanted to write something today, something exciting, interesting, something good. Better than this at least. But this is all I’ve got right now.