Recovery Isn’t Always Linear
By: Fleurine Tideman
Tags: Mental Illness, Isolation, Self, Depression, Mental Health

Recovery Isn’t Always Linear

Photo: J W / Unsplash

We can get so caught up in reading about people thriving during this pandemic. The new hobbies they picked up, the time they found to write articles, the new side hustle they started from the guest bedroom. We can get so caught up in writing about these things, in writing about how much you can get, how you can conquer your mental illness. So caught up, that we slip into pretending, that we neglect to tune in to ourselves and realise that actually, we’re not doing so well. We’re not okay, thanks for asking.

Today I sat at my desk, and I searched for something to write about. Writing had always been a release for me, an escape from my mind whilst also a method in capturing control over it. I write about how things get better as I know that’s what I needed to hear. I write about the world around me and the place I struggle to find in it. But today I had nothing to give, no wise words and no big questions. I sat at my desk and realised that I didn’t even know what day it is, and I still don’t.

Recovery is a funny thing as it isn’t a thing at all. You don’t just recover, it isn’t pre and post mental illness, it’s the endless walk that is life. And sometimes you walk on easy paths, maybe you even jog or skip, and sometimes you trudge through thick mud and continue to trip. I was skipping for a lot of the year; I was surprised at everything I was achieving during this ridiculous concept of a year. But now I’m not skipping, now I’m wading through mud to the waist, and I’m honestly struggling.

Rethinking mental illness means considering recovery to be about “working towards something that is important to you”, focusing on the goal-based side of it rather than the diminishing of symptoms. Maybe it’s because that ambition and motivation are indicative of a lowering of symptoms, as you’re moving forward again instead of standing still. Even so, they clarify that you may still have symptoms once recovered. But wouldn’t the presence of symptoms suggest that it isn’t recovery? That instead the boat is balanced for the moment, more skilled at manoeuvring through difficult waters, but the darkest storm could take it.

According to K. S. Jacob, “the concept of recovery is about staying in control of their life rather than the elusive state of return to premorbid level of functioning.”

This suggests that we’re not trying to get back to the before, even if we think we are. We know that the person we were pre-mental illness is gone, and we accept that because this person is a lot stronger and more empathetic. Instead, we yearn for control over our lives. To feel that we drive our mind instead of the other way around. And this certainly is a time lacking for control.

Maybe it’s winter, the darkness stealing every inch of my room. I want to keep running, as I know how much it helps me, but I can’t crawl out of my bed into the pitch-black. I want to keep writing, I turned twenty-four last month, and I’m still so far from the goals I’ve held for over a decade. I want to keep reading, I made a goal to read thirty-five books this year, and I still have three to go. I want to eat healthily and look after myself. But everything feels so difficult right now. Getting out of bed is met with the soundtrack of a sigh, watching TV shows I’ve already seen feels more manageable than doing anything else.

It’s that painful cycle, of slipping into a lack of productivity as you feel low and then feeling low as a result of it. I need to break out of this cycle, but it feels so much easier just to remain within its grip. Isn’t that always the case though? Continuing our coping mechanisms feels easier and better than actually working on ourselves. I did the work, I did two years of BPD focused therapy, and I was doing much better. I finally understood how BPD can’t be cured but that it can be managed, and I was managing. Until I wasn’t. Until I woke up one morning and realised I haven’t been for a while, I’ve just been pretending to. Until I woke up and had no idea what day it even is.

Why am I writing this? Well, because the rational aspect of my mind knows that I’m not the only one feeling this way, despite how depression tries to tell me otherwise. Any sign that recovery is slipping is branded a failure, instead of a bump on this long-winded road.

Because we all associate our productivity to our self-worth, give ourselves grief in ways we would never to a friend in this situation. Let me be that friend to you and tell you that you’re not the only one, it’s not your fault, and it will get easier. It’s okay not to be okay, and I don’t even know what day it is.