Been feeling low, struggling with depression. Working hard to be hopeful, mindfulness therapy is helping. It’s teaching me to face my thoughts and feelings, to accept things as they are and go with the flow, to move on and not dwell on what I can’t change or control. It’s hard work and needs self-discipline, which I don’t have much of, but I’ll keep trying.
Yesterday, started tidying my bookshelves (those ugly ones H. dislikes) and found his journal from 8½ years ago. I’ve tried reading it before, but never finished it. Too hard to face – the guilt and regret from causing all that pain, the anger and disgust at myself, and the pointlessness of everything we went through.
Put the book down a couple of times, but forced myself to keep reading. I’m glad I did, it opened my eyes and my heart. H. loved me, even when I least deserved it. He thought me beautiful, even when I was at my ugliest. The words are heartbreaking but they also fill me with hope and determination to live life and share it with this man.
H. might feel bad about some of the things he wrote but shouldn’t. They are golden, these thoughts and feelings of his, as important to me as my own.