Hashi, you've nailed it exactly the way it is for me. Yes, sometimes forcing myself to do things works, and sometimes it makes everything a lot worse and I find myself wondering how I could have been so stupid and unresponsive to my signals as to try, and it's funny that you should so talk about the gym, because the gym is one of the key activities in my life right now... and so is one of the key indicators to me of whether or not I'm functioning.
I struggle hopelessly with how to know when it is right to push myself versus when it isn't. The need to understand that distinction seems critical to me, because the results when I get it wrong can constitute further and greater setbacks at a time when I know I don't have the resilience for them, including more triggers, escalating anxiety, worsening depression and ultimately yet more reinforcement of my sense that I can't go out or do anything.
And yes, sometimes those little compromise activities give me the tiniest twinge of hope that at least I have done something, and sometimes they instead feel like the little markers of gradual insideous demise, and it seems dangerous and naive to try to attach any other meaning to them. I struggle, sometimes hopelessly, with the "even a little bit is enough" sentiment, because it feels like an offer and an acceptance of certainty that I am diminishing and that the "little bit" will get smaller and smaller until it won't be there at all.
Interesting your point about journalling Sweetpea... I actually do find this is one thing I do sometimes turn to for a little comfort and connection when I can't do much of anything else. Like right now, for example, I am struggling to do much of anything, yet am sporadically finding the ability to come here to the forum and to write on my diary or on other threads. Writing is something that, even in a disorganised and distressed state, I can usually do to at least an average standard, and sometimes just being able to see evidence of some coherent and productive activity in my brain offers me a tiny ounce of comfort - and a little sense of connection (even if it's only false connection) when I am feeling terminally isolated and unable to do anything about it.
My therapist said to me on Tuesday that if I stop making it to appointments with him (which he knows are the most motivating thing in my life) he will know that hospital is a must for me and will make that happen. It both scared and comforted me to hear that. And mostly because for perhaps the first time ever, I very very almost didn't make it in to see him on Tuesday, and was more afraid of that fact than almost anything else.
There's more I want to say, later...
Maddog
