I don’t know where to start. But writing things down helps. Seeing my thoughts in print or on a screen makes them more real, more tangible. It’s like one less thing to carry in my mind because now it’s outside of me, in a way. It’s one less thing weighing on my heart. I can step away from the screen, or set my paper down and come back to it later.
I need to reach out, today. I need to vent. So much stress and overwhelming things have caught up to me again. I’ll be doing okay for a while, then setbacks occur and discourage me. Sometimes the things are small. Sometimes, the setbacks are huge. I feel guilty that I slide backwards in my mental health recovery. It feels like a failure, and that failure just eats at me until I have no more strength to move forward on my journey.
I’m trying to remember that each moment is a step. Some moments will be good and uplifting. I’ll climb a few steps and see the landing in sight. Other times, I trip and fall. Sometimes it’s only a short fall, and I can get back up easily and relatively unhurt. Other times I trip on my own shoelaces, fall backwards and sprain my ankle. And then there are the times when I’m about to step onto the landing at the top of the flight of stairs for some rest, and then someone throws a boulder at my head and it pins me back down somewhere below step one, and I struggle to release myself from the weight that holds me there, feeling utterly broken.
It’s easier for me to explain things symbolically like this. Somehow it’s easier for me to understand that way. Maybe if my pain is ugly, I can make the words seem beautiful, as a way to cope.
Sometimes when I’m stuck at the bottom of the steps, I have tools with me to help pry myself from beneath the rock. Sometimes it’s pen and paper, like with my bullet journal. Sometimes it’s music. Sometimes there are friends there to help move the boulder, or to attack it so that it breaks apart and the smaller pieces can be more manageable.
Other times, it feels like there’s no help in sight; no one to turn to when I finally come to the understanding that I need help and call out.
But I’m here today because I feel safe reaching out here, from where I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. I’m not sure what I need to hear, but I just needed to get this weight off of my chest.
You don’t know me but I feel similar to where you are. I don’t have any answers nor do I pretend to. I’ll just simply sit beside you if that’s ok. We can endure this place together until we find the strength to continue to fight. Thank you for your transparency. I do hope this will pass for you.
Thank you for sitting with me and keeping me company. Let’s rest here for a while and try to recharge. 
When daylight comes, I start to forget the pain and the reasons why I have to leave things and certain people behind. So I go back to them. But in moments of darkness, the clarity and pain return. I’m not sure if I’m making it easier or harder to leave. I’m still stuck between a rock and a hard place.
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