I wanted to write earlier in the week, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I felt so proud after that post, and then bam, just like that, it all shattered.  I didn't want to admit to anyone that I was not okay.  I mean, how could I after that?  But the truth is, I'm not okay.

Not long after writing the post, in the middle of the night, I had a flashback.  It was scary and real and it sent me into a tailspin of panic that I've never before experienced.  I cried and shook and screamed and I wanted so badly to cut or drink or do anything that would numb it all.  Stacey came, out of no where (because the internet was out at her house she showed up at mine at midnight... yeah, thanks God) and picked the lock to the bathroom door, where I was huddled in the shower.  After much coaxing and calming I finally slept around sunrise.  The next day, I was just drained and defeated.  How could this happen so quickly?  How could everything go so wrong in such a short amount of time.  I'm supposed to be better!  It isn't supposed to be like this anymore.

I've spent the last three days in a horrible cycle of physical illness and self-destructiveness that I don't really care to admit to. I didn't eat for three days, too ill to keep anything down, and too defeated to care.  I took too many meds hoping to defeat a migraine and keep the nightmares at bay. Eventually  I just cried out to God, literally lay my head in his lap and just prayed myself to sleep over and over again.  

This morning a friend told me that it's no wonder I'm struggling after that blog post.  The enemy will do anything to knock me down and that I had to fight it.  I didn't want to hear those words.  I wanted her to comfort me, to tell me it was going to be okay, but instead she spoke wisdom and truth.  So here I am, trying desperately to fight it.

After the last post someone told me that they felt like I was holding back, that it wasn't me, not really, not deep, just scratching the surface.  She was right, it wasn't all of me.  But I'm here now.  I'm here being real and telling you that I'm not okay.  I've figured out in the last few days that the thing about getting better is that sometimes, you don't.  You take 1 step forward and 3 steps back.  It's a process, and some days are going to be better than others.  Some weeks are going to be better.  It doesn't make me weak, it makes me human.  I'm trying to pick myself back up.  This week has been hell, but I'm determined to make it through.  Even though I am in emotional distress, and even though it isn't going to go away overnight, I am going to make it.  I will survive this.