Every time I think I'm safe, every time I think maybe I'm healed, every time I think maybe I can talk to someone I like without silently begging them not to let me hurt them, something catches me off guard (because why would I need to be on guard if I'm healed, right?) and I go spiraling off again.
Every single time.
And it hasn't even *happened* yet - yeah, I'm a little off-balance at the moment, but I could recover. Only I know it's not permanent. It's only a matter of time until I'm replaying the last week - again - wishing that I could change what happened, change a single word or hold on longer, or crack sooner and tell her what it felt like . . .
Sometimes I think I'm healed, sometimes I don't, I honestly don't know anymore. I don't know if I'd recognize healed when I saw it . . . it's getting so I can't empathize with anyone who's happy. Because I don't have anything in common.
Sometimes I can do things. More often . . . I can't. And I silently apologize to the people I ever risked hurting, just by thinking about maybe asking them out, because I can't think of any way it would be a good thing, whether they said yes or not.
Sometimes I'm flying and it's good, and sometimes I crash and it's terrible, and I drop to survival mode and find someone who tells me it's okay and makes me believe it, and it's good, and I can remember why I do it.
And sometimes I just trudge along and can't even remember what it's like to be functional.
Which is worse . . . to know that you're going to be depressed in the future, or to know that you're not going to be any different in the future?