It’s that “almost” that is the only real unknown
The optimistic among you might recognise the outside possibility that maybe, just maybe, this will be my last ever bout; that somehow my internal brain chemistry will sort itself out and that I will be “cured”.
I’m prepared to admit that the possibility exists; history and experience tells me that this is almost certainly not the likely outcome.
There are no good things about a depressive episode. There is one thing that if familiar in its uncertainty. Every episode, every plunge into the depths of darkness is accompanied by that nagging doubt; is this the one? Is this the episode that I don’t pull through? Is this the one where it finally becomes too much, I lose the will to keep fighting, and give up?
I never know. I tell myself that that won’t happen; that I will not surrender, but do I really know this?
The truth is, no.. All I know is that I have a 100% survival rate to date. That, I suspose, is all that really counts.