“I haven’t been this mentally stable since mid-2011,” I told my therapist last Saturday.

I knocked on the wood table next to me for good juju.

“I attribute this to finally finding a decent med, having you as my therapist and to myself for not giving up.”

She was pleased and smiled.

“You are a good student, Mer.”

“Thanks, I try.”

“Plus you were gifted with one hell of a wonderful sense of humor.”

“It’s helped get me through a lot of shit, that’s for sure.”

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I’m not saying that I am 100% free and clear of my depression, anxiety and OCD symptoms. That doesn’t really happen, not in my experience anyways. But I don’t wake up in the morning afraid. I don’t linger on suicidal thoughts orΒ pray for death.

I do have an occasional passive thought of not caring if something bad happens to me, but that is to be expected. I have felt that feeling since I was a young teen and nothing I do will change that fact. It’s just part of the disease.

Life is one hell of a rollercoaster. The ups and downs of the last 5 years have changed me in ways that I cannot fully put into words, but I will try.

Am I tougher? Probably.

Am I stronger? A bit.

I made an important phone call yesterday. My voice didn’t shake when I left a message on the voicemail.

I pay the bills (the best that I can) in a timely fashion.

I cook more often and enjoy it. I don’t burn anything, which is a plus.

I have fewer nightmares than I did before, the fresh hell of that bullshit every night.

I haven’t cried since July 4th. Maybe a few tears in my eyes, but they pass quickly. They don’t even run over and spill, either.

I don’t feel batshit crazy or at least I can hide it better.

I can handle more stress without cracking as easily.

And most importantly, when I ask the people who know me best, they say that I am more like my old self again. Always cracking jokes and zipping the one-liners.

But I know that deep down I will never be that old version of myself again.

I’ve seen some things, man.

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And that’s okay because it has to be okay.

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