Thinking about recovery today. Thinking about my progress the last couple of years. Thinking about contentment.
I don’t know If I will ever find contentment in my recovery. Where’s it’s progressed to. I’m impatient, and want it fixed, want it gone, and now.
But that’s unrealistic isn’t it? That form of drive never leaves one satisfied, just the constant chase.
I should be content with a 50% reduction in symptoms, should be content that I’m not in such a dark place. Accept that I’m always going to have this exhausting wax and wane of symptoms.
I suppose I should be used to it by now. But do we ever truly “get used to it”? 22 years of voices, and they still scare me, they still pick on me and hurt me, they still try to confuse me.
I just don’t know how content with that I can be. I try, but it’s still this grueling marathon of day to day life. It wears on me and I get so tired.
I’m not done fighting though and that’s important to me. Maybe that’s the key… and maybe I swinging blindly in the dark.