It's 19/02/2018. You're still here. Still pounding on the keys trying to arrange them into a semi-coherent sentence. You're quitting weed... I know, big step for both of us. It's actually going quite well your mood hasn't been great but you've at least kept up appearances with Elle. She's really been helping the last few days. The last few weeks have been the most devastating.
You haven't gone back to work, every time you think of it your brain flits between jumping off bridges or drowning in lakes. It is a sickness that you fear you will never overcome. At least there is hope. it is distant and small and exists only in the back of your mind but it is there. Hope for a better future, hope that you can still do something you love. Hope that it will all work out for the best.
Your plans refined and every day is just another day. Plodding on. Never leaving this desk, self-deprecating behaviour and frequent isolation from others. Throw in some self-harm and you've got a poster-boy for depression. Who'd of every known you'd end up this way.
I have forgiven my Dad. I have not entered therapy, Elle never calls, I suspect that its because she partly worries that they will describe me as truly insane and take me away from her. Otherwise I think it might be because she believes it is me who needs to make the choice but I won't ever make it.
She truly is the victim here.
You worked out a debt philosophy on life. It's getting you through.