This is a Really Real Mental Health post.

TW: Mention of Suicide, Gun Violence.

I can always tell when things are going well.

It’s been over 2 weeks since I’ve written this time.

Don’t get me wrong, things aren’t

perfect

but they are pretty damn good.

I’m sleeping a little less than I was before,

still too much,

but it’s better.

A combination of adding Ritalin back in, and increasing my antidepressant, seems to be helping.

Today we increased it a little bit more.

We recently got access to Discovery Plus.

I’ve spent years saying “I don’t watch TV” but seeing the different shows pop up on this streaming network made me realize,

I did like TV at one time.

I liked documentaries,

I liked stories about families different than mine.

I liked cooking shows.

I’ve gotten sucked back into a TV series and have it playing on my computer while I’m doing other things.

Yesterday I tried working with a new art medium.

I had to move Wonder Woman’s Valentine’s creations to clear space for me to work.

I put it up on a shelving unit we have in the corner.

I realized that the “Parker Shelf” was just above it.

I smiled.

While I do still have some random things around the house that belonged to Parker, most of my memory stuff of her is condensed onto one shelf in the living room.

The front of the shelf says “Love is the answer to all questions.”

I had some “I need to tell Parker this” moments while I was at my dad’s.

I was sharing memories with Wonder Woman and Kidlet.

Showing them a fishing rod my dad had made just for me, one I helped design, one that has my name on it.

Showing them a toy set from when I was growing up.

Showing them some pictures.

Some items my dad made while I worked along side him.

This trip was very healing.

I was able to focus more on the positive side of who he was as a person.

The positive impact he had in my world.

Don’t get me wrong, he was a horrible human being.

But the worst people still have good moments.

A few times in the last couple of months I’ve ended up going 2 weeks between therapy appointments.

Six months ago my dad died.

Things got so bad that I was doing therapy multiple times a week. Then I was in partial. Then I went inpatient for about a month between two different programs.

Now, it isn’t that big of a deal when I don’t go to therapy one week.

It isn’t that big of a deal when group therapy is cancelled.

I’m going weeks without writing because there just isn’t much to write about.

I’m feeling that euthymia that I always strive for.

Not manic.

Not depressed.

Just, existing.

I still have dreams about my dad.

Weird dreams that take place after he shot himself, but he’s still alive.

Sometimes he is shaved bald on that side of his head, an obvious wound by his temple.

Sometimes someone else mentions that he shot himself and points out how it’s changed my life.

A few nights ago I had some dream where I was taking him around with me to college or something like that.

Someone asked, “What’s _wrong_ with him, he’s acting so weird.”

I replied, “Of course he’s acting weird, he put a bullet into his skull a few months ago.”

The dreams are less vivid now.

Less jarring.

They seem less real and I wake up from them easily.

The occasional flashback is easily pushed away.

I know things will come and go.

I know I still have a long way to go, and that I could be better than I am now.

But,

things are pretty damn good right now.