3 hours

This is a Really Real Mental Health post.

It’s 3 hours until I have to check-in.

I’m counting down the strangest things.

One last dose of my evening meds at home.

One last time taking my morning ones.

One last pet of the pupper.

One last pet of the kitties.

One last cuddle.

One last bowl of pho.

One last coffee.

One last post.

One last message on messenger.

One last text.

Counting down.

Holding all of these things dear.

I’ve asked myself, why is this so hard when so often I want myself dead.

Why does 2 months of my life seem harder than the end?


Well, I won’t be around to witness the aftermath of the end.

I won’t feel anything after that moment.

And I have to feel all of this.

I have to feel all of the next two months.

Deeply delving into my brain and hoping to scoop out the parts that ask for death.

Hoping to put more space between mood swings.

Hoping to give myself a chance at long term euthymia.

That midline of “normality” where I’m not depressed, and not manic, and not both at the same time.

And it may not work.

That’s true.

But I owe myself the chance.

I owe myself this work.

This opportunity.

And I’m glad I finally see it for what it is.

I just had to stop thinking through everyone else.

Worrying about what you would want me to do.

Worrying about letting someone down.

When in the end, I’m the only one that matters.

This is my chance at life.

My chance at recovery.

My chance at stability.


In less than 3 hours I have to check-in.

And I’m at peace.

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