Finally waded through the brain swamp enough to figure out what this depressive episode is about. Been slowly coming to some conclusions about various things I’ve been thinking about over the years (yeah uh, turns out the thought of forcing yourself to be with a man ever again making you feel ill isn’t really being bi, and realising how badly gender has always chafed, and accepting I’m probably nd even if I can’t access an assessment rn, and finally fucking accepting that yes I did suffer “real” trauma and no brain I’m not faking it), and that should make me feel relieved, right? And it does. It really does, so much so that I want to cry happy tears. But it’s so fragile. And the mechanisms in my brain from all that abuse have doubled down out of fear, screaming that it’s too dangerous to be the real me, that I need to hide hide hide, that I have to keep pretending, that people won’t believe me and people will hurt me if they see. And yeah. Maybe they will. But that doesn’t have the hold on me that it used to. And I know there are people who love me regardless. And now I know what this particular episode is about, maybe I can find a path to crawl out of it.
