I don’t like poking my insecurities. There’s an emberrassing fragility I would rather not have to face. I fancied myself enlightened but it turns out I’m just a man. It’s time I admit how much I let that infect me. I’m constantly concocting these stupid fantasies that are never going to play out and then judging myself when they don’t. I need to find a new measure of self worth.

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I went downtown to the train station by myself to meet with my OT. It was my last approved session of the set. I don’t know if I’ll be seeing her again or what we will be doing if I do. It went ok. The crowd getting off the train was large but I made my way into the station. We even walked around outside. No trucks. No sirens. So that’s it. I made my way downtown. How long can I spend trying to relive past glory?

Depression has been shadowing me again, telling me what I need to hear to give in to it. I don’t know how much of it is true. The evidence-based accusations are the hardest to cope with. Depression knows where it hurts the most. I do my best to keep my head up and soldier on. It generates guilt because it feels like a very self-indulgent state I have no right to be in.

Mental illness doesn’t carry an air of nobility. It replaces value and dignity with humiliation and pain. It mocks. I have faced my own assumptions over the last couple of years. I have struggled to make changes and maintain gains. Helping myself involves deviating even further from who I was and redefining what enough means. I have to tolerate rejection and failure if I am to try to spark a new flame. I burnt the candle at both ends already, so I’m not sure how I’m going to light it. Time is ticking.

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I have a funeral to attend tomorrow. I got off easy last time thanks to cremation. I don’t think that will be the case now. I don’t know how many dead bodies I have seen but at least at a funeral they’re made up to look living. I have glimpsed into the lives of many a body in the hunt for identities and medical histories. Family photos, accomplishments, hobbies, hopes. Some die with love and legacy, some with hate and others with nothing more than drug paraphernalia and dirty clothing.

I feel better than I did yesterday. Disengaging from my critic is no easy overnight task. The narrative is toxic and the standards are unrealistic. But I have no goals. Waiting to find out what my new limits are before I make any to avoid further hurt is not engaging or “activated”. It’s complicated feeling like my original destiny that I managed to cheat for a while has been fulfilled now yet I’m still to pay it no mind.

Forward is a confusing and scary direction. All I have is what I know but I have to start believing that other things I never considered are possible and that I’ll be capable. When you can’t do or aren’t good at something important to you it’s hard not to let that colour your outlook on everything. Those who have gotten back up figured it out. Seems plausible that I should be able to as well.