The end result unfortunately, at least at this point in time, will probably be the same, and this is what I don't want to admit to. The almost inevitable slide if I give up support too soon. This is the crux of what Hubby and I spoke about today - I still, still, struggle to accept where and who I am. After all these years, countless hours with Therapist, medication, multiple healthcare professionals singing off the same hymn sheet - this blog!!!!!! - I still find it so tough. I don't want to accept that I'm still on the road to recovery, that the last month, despite its ups and downs, is the best we've had in a very long time. That before I can even begin to consider stopping medication or finishing with Therapist, things need to stay like this, stay at least relatively stable, for quite some time. I hate that. I really do. I hate to think that I actively need so much support, that there's no way of taking a test to physically measure where I am in recovery and how much longer it may take. Or even how much longer this window may last. I find myself thinking again that actually it really wasn't all that bad, I was exaggerating, I don't really have depression at all. And then I voice these things to Hubby, who, bless his heart, manages not to roar at me in utter frustration and walk away slamming every door in his wake, because he can remember with stunning clarity
exactly how bad things were, while I seem to have forgotten (blocked it out?!?) Funnily enough, it's coming back to me now that this is something Therapist and I spoke about, the dangers of
whitewashing over everything that's happened, because then I won't see the signs if it happens again.