I wrote something last year, that I was just looking back on, as I noticed (again) that July tends to roll around each year. Funny how that happens, isn’t it?
Anyway.. now looking at two years, since that scary dark time, when I chose not to drive into the bridge- I never calculated it, but what would the timing work out to be, if traveling at 93 mph, and came less than a foot from the concrete? I guess it doesn’t matter much, because the point is still that I’m here, and I didn’t do that, thus (obviously) I am not dead and buried.
A lot of ups and downs though- as I wrote last year, I said that I would be eternally grateful for that space, the distance that came between that bridge and me. As I’m writing this now, I can feel that still- or rather, again, for it was earlier this year, back in March, that I’d forgotten completely the gratitude, and once again was in a place that was not-so-good.
So it’s been two years, and it’s been four months, about. Today, I saw the pshrink again, and he wants me to add another med, to try to disrupt the cycles and seesawing. He didn’t think it was so good that I don’t sleep consistently either, so we’ll try this and see what happens.
Sometimes, I wonder if this is just normal for me? That I’m just not going to get to an even(er) place, and I get pretty fatalistic about it; that I will just deal with this, oh well and move on. But then, I’ll get a glimpse, I’ll catch a piece of joy in my heart, from the kids, from a photo or a friend, or I’ll feel God or Lynn’s touch- and I figure, can’t hurt to keep trying to reach that point, right?