Even when things seem to be going well, I find myself getting stuck in these moments of doubt like teeth and claws, gnawing away at my hands and feet and at my heart and at my mind: and the thing to remember is, I’m not failing at recovering, when I feel like the world’s lost all its tastes and smells and sensations. I’m not failing at recovering when I want to find a very quiet corner and hide with my music, my yarn, my pens, my ink, my crochet hooks, and my books. I’m not failing at recovering when I want to scream and throw up and instead I swallow all my words and all my bile and I tell myself to suck it up and keep going. I’m not failing, I am just being human, and I don’t want to romanticize it or anything: I just want to get through the terrible storm-cloud seconds and minutes and the myriad catastrophes of my intrusive thoughts, and trust that there’s something else that makes it imperative for me to keep going. What’s on the other side of my doubts and my fears and my screams? I don’t always know. It’s not always good. It’s worse, some days.
But I have to keep fucking going because that’s life: the decision to keep going, every moment. keep breathing and keep going forward.