The thing about mental illness is that it can act like a giant magnet, completely skewing your internal emotional compass so that it's hard to distinguish between symptoms and regular emotions.
I'm grateful to my terrific therapist, my wonderful husband, my relentlessly supportive friends, and I'm grateful to myself, for doing this difficult work.
I'm learning that reacting to my emotions doesn't actually get rid of them or spare me from that fear, it just adds a layer of confusion and shame.
Here's the gist: do not be an asshole to people who are already suffering.
I'm not trying to be a pessimist, I'm just trying to be prepared.
How seriously are you supposed to take these kinds of thoughts when you know you don't really want to die, but at the same time, the idea of continuing to exist as your horrible self fills you with dread and rage?
I take a LOT of naps.
I'm with you in the painfully liminal space of recovery.
Toxic shame, also known as internalized shame, is, frankly, a bitch.
It's okay if it takes some time to figure out what's going on in your brain. Maybe if I tell you these things, I'll believe them too.