After my reflection on how well my week had gone in yesterdays blog post I received a comment that said “….sounds like you are on the road to recovery….” When the comment landed in my email inbox, I opened it and quickly shut it again.
Today I was reading this article and again was struck by a familiar feeling of unease.
I fear recovery.
Why on earth do I fear recovery? Surely I should embrace it and work hard for it? What’s not to want?
The truth is I’m not even sure what recovery is for me. I don’t think I’m going to be who I was before I got ill and I wasn’t very sure who I was then.
Will recovery mean I can sit still long enough to read, to work, to engage meaningfully in a conversation? Will recovery mean I can sleep without drugs- and if I don’t the only consequence is tiredness? Will recovery mean I can feel sad without it turning into a great deep, dark hole?
Will recovery mean I can return to caring for all of my children all of the time, whilst holding onto my job, being an active member of the community and an active member of the Labour party?
Will recovery mean no more CPN support, no more fortnightly GP visits, no more psychiatrist appointments no more medication? Will friends stop texting, calling and visiting? Will recovery mean no-one cares anymore?
I don’t know what recovery is, so no wonder I am frightened of it. I’m not sure anyone else can tell me what it is either. I fear recovery because it is still too far away and from that I take some comfort.
In spite of my fear, I continue fighting. Today has been another successful day, nothing out of the ordinary but extraordinary nonetheless.