To dance with the black dog

Anyone who suffers from depression knows what this dance is like, they know all about that black dog that’s hopefully tethered in the yard. Sometimes he gets free. Sometimes he sits on the back porch, scratching at the door to come in. Sometimes he manages to sneak inside with his great big dirty black paws, leaving huge dirty marks on the nice, relatively clean floor of my mind. The Powers that Be help us all if he gets his great big, black body in my bed. Those days we’re all pretty fucked. Currently he’s sitting on the porch, working his way through the door.

I’m a relatively private person. Not many people know about my dance with the black dog, even fewer know about my breakdown and subsequent diagnosis with Borderline Personality Disorder. For these reasons – the taboo of the subject, the fact that I’m embarrassed about it as no one likes to admit that they have a weakness and the fact that it’s no-ones business but mine. Yes, it make for a lonely existence at times, but I’m getting there.

My recovery has been long – 18 months and counting, but I have fewer relapses and they are shorter in duration. I think the mindset tools that are shared as part of the 12 wbt is going to help. It’s important to remember that I’m not alone, that I’m not the first to go through this. I hope that. Y being open and honest about my mental illness and my daily wrestle with that big, dumb black dog will help someone else.

I am me, I am not alone and most importantly, I’m alive and ready to kick my weight and that stupid black dog to the freaking curb!

Neata

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