...is for CRISIS.
For that is what my life is in, right now and for the last Lord knows how many months.
There are things that have improved (I've not had a drop of Muscat since 2012...), but some things just don't seem to change. I still hoard medication, I still mutilate myself (though, to be fair, I have no recollection of doing it the last time as it was during the electroshock period. But I apparently hacked at my arms, both of them, with a pair of nail scissors - since confiscated of course - leaving the most hideous scars you can imagine, and these scars just won't go away, they remain red and horribly, horribly visible), I still spend way too much time writing soul-searching crap that no one will, or even should, ever read, I still have the fire of hatred for D burning inside me, consuming me, doing me more harm than good... The list goes on.
There is mental crisis, there is personal crisis, there is professional crisis. Crisis, in other words.
I guess I'm dealing with things a little better, I guess I'm less unstable (words carefully chosen: not "more stable", but "less unstable"), I guess I'm not quite at the bottom of the hole any more. But I'm most definitely not OUT of the hole yet.
For one thing, I'm still HERE. I'm allowed out, am being allowed to go home for the whole Easter weekend, and that's good, a positive sign, but Dr H still sees me struggling, the psychologist I saw on Wednesday saw it too, even C's psychologist (whom she refuses to go and see) could see I'm struggling, and I'd never met her before.
For another, there are still so many question marks - will I ever feel capable of giving my daughters a home, will that home ever be presentable, will my relationship with Y continue or (as I very much fear) come to an end once he decides he wants to start a family? Questions, questions, questions.
The world is in crisis - Syria, Ukraine, just about everywhere to be honest - and so am I. It's a good word for today.