Walk with me for a moment

The past few days have been very hard. I've been broken up with my partner for just about a week. A five year relationship ended by them running away. I stand here, and look at my broken life, and I want to pick up the pieces, patch the walls, dust the floors. It is just rather hard to do that when the roof has caved in and it is raining all the time. It rains so much when you're like this. It makes your clothes soaking wet, so heavy with weight that every action takes so much effort. You sigh as if you've run a marathon, and yet you've made the same pot of coffee you do every day.

I'm speaking with a therapist, which is good. This is good. I've acknowledged I need help. I've been through major depression enough that I'm diagnosed with it as a disorder, I'm no stranger to this. It is so demoralizing for it to be a different path with different way points, different breakthroughs, all unique every time. The analyst in me wishes for a system to this, the human in me scoffs at those who try to troubleshoot me like a robot when I am explaining how I feel. What an odd dance to be in.

There's an underlying part in all of this that means I'll get through it though, even if it takes time I know I will. For better, and often times worse, I'm rather stubborn. I don't like giving up. I know what giving up to this potentially means, and I refuse.

For now, I'll keep picking up the pieces

Later Gator