I am not doing well again. Not at all. I am missing the social freedoms that have so long been woven into my self care package. I need human interaction. Friends. Coffee shops. Conversation. Hugs. My lovely Ian Penguin does his absolute best for me, but he’s not especially chatty and when it comes to giving cuddles his little flippers fall sadly short. But he’s faithful and is there for me unconditionally.

I recently found some thought diaries from 2015. To put that in context, I spectacularly broke down and was hospitalised in 2014, so a year on, and I believe it was the year I was first diagnosed with bipolar and first prescribed a mood stabiliser. That was rather trial and error and I was still very mentally unwell. I was, at that time, still self harming and was actively suicidal. I was very preoccupied with the abuse I had experienced in childhood. And also weirdly obsessed with the film Frozen, which I would watch over and over to try to work out the messages it had for me. All these things were common themes in the diaries. Also apparent was the utter heartbreak I was experiencing being separated from my son. I berated myself so harshly for being too unwell to have him living with me at home.

Reading my distressed scribbles in these notebooks was devastating. The words screamed out my pain. Although I’m not doing well currently, I do have enough of a grasp on reality to realise that neither Disney nor condemning social workers held the truth for me. And I realise how much I have worked through with various therapies to get me as far as I am now. I have my last session with my current counsellor on Monday. That has turned out to be a lifeline in the past difficult year. And maybe I haven’t taken massive strides forward, but I did find the strength to walk away from the man named Dave (despite the hold he seems to have over me).

And I want to move forward. I want to be able to live and love again. But despite my obvious progress I just seem to hurt. Even now. Life hurts. I miss my friends. Hopefully that will get easier before too long. I miss my dad still more than words can say and there’s little I can do to ease that. I miss my mobility. I miss being able to work. I miss working with children, who were both endearing and frustrating but who kept me feeling young. I miss being able to get my hair and nails done. Looking in the mirror is depressing. I wonder when I started to look so old, so weary, so broken. My life has been defined by so much trauma, abuse and loss. It’s little wonder I struggle sometimes.

I should try to sleep, it’s late. I’ve cried enough tears for today. Trusty Ian Penguin is here, poised for cuddles, as is Small Bear. Small Bear was a Valentine’s gift from the new gentleman I am seeing. As much as you can in a lockdown anyway. I so want to discover if that gentleman and I can find our smiles in one another. Got to hold the hope for a happy ending.