I’ve been wondering why I haven’t felt like I’m moving forward in my recovery for the past week or so. I’ve still been hopeful, I had the whole manic thing and, I’ll admit, it scared me just a tetch, but I didn’t expect to end up standing still. It’s annoying. Tonight while I was doing dishes I was pondering this over the suds and realized I haven’t read, I haven’t actually put work into it to get anything out of it. I’m still holding onto my anger pretty well. I am able to get myself worked up over some sort of dreamed up scenario and how I would ‘get even’ with the perceived attackers. Then I remind myself that those people have to look beyond their own needs to be motivated enough to stick their noses into mine. That is both meant as a realization and knowing that I’m not as spectacular in everyone elses universe as I am in mine, and because, honestly, they’ve never shown an interest in the areas I’d like them to before now. I don’t think anyone in my family has read my public blog. Grant it, at first, I didn’t tell them. But now that they know they don’t have the time. Their friends have looked, and even commented on them, but my family, not so much.
See, that last comment again is evidence that I need to get back to studying and trying to grow the foundation passed where I stopped. I just wonder though, is this what I’m going to have to do every day for the rest of my life to ward off the darkness? Though I’ve been rather hopeful for the future (an idealized one I realize), the idea of getting through a day now is overwhelming. Having to have to exercise, meditate and grow my defenses against the void added to a normal human day is almost unfathomable. I’m going to need one hellavah foundation, aren’t I.