Judge a book by it’s cover

So. I had my assessment today. I feel like I’m going back in time. Except this time I feel older, more grown up, and more independent. I went alone. Which I think I needed to, because it was so personal. I cried a lot. And it made me feel rubbish. And now I’m worried for the future.
What happens if they decide what’s wrong and I don’t like what I hear?
Or what happens if they can’t help me and they think I’m stupid, and ridiculous?
What if they’ll judge me?
I would judge me.
I do judge me: all the time. I’m completely worthless, and if I didn’t know me better, I’d look at me and say I was insane. There’s a quote about being mad:

I’m afraid so. You’re entirely bonkers. But I’ll tell you a secret. All the best people are.

that’s from Alice in wonderland.
But I’m not the best people, so maybe that means I’m not mad. Just messed up.
I don’t even know any more.
So the lady said I should keep a diary. Of my moods and thoughts and my highs and lows. And I’m scared. Because I don’t want to know: I don’t want to look at it, because it’ll just hit home that this is all real and it’s not just a nightmare. That I do spend hours crying. That I have these moments of craziness that I just want to forget about. These feelings of anxiety, because I’m so restless that I just. Need. To. Keep. Moving. Can’t. Stop. Talking. Must. Keep. Busy. Can’t. Stop. Need. To. Do. More. Can’t. Stop.
Sometimes I can’t stop, and that’s scary too. I just can’t sit down without getting back up. Or I have to leave the house because I can’t stay still. I’ve found that a good way to deal with this is to go to the gym: it doesn’t solve anything, and it doesn’t make it go away. But at least I don’t have to stop when I’m there. And it releases that energy. But sometimes I feel so high that I can’t go. That I panic. And I’m worried. And I don’t want people to see me that way. I look suspicious: like I’ve done something wrong. Or someone is following me, always looking over my shoulder. And it’s just weird. I feel quite detached, like I’m watching myself, I can’t explain.
And I struggled to explain this today: I find it hard to talk face to face, especially when I’m on the spot, talking about all this painful stuff from the past that made me cry. I wish I could go back to earlier on and tell this lady what I write now.
I wish I could go back and change a lot of things.
But I can’t. And now I need to live with the consequences.
Of my mistakes. And mistakes that aren’t mine. There are important things I didn’t even get the chance to mention.
All I know for sure, is that I’m not depressed. Don’t get me wrong, in my mood swings I feel depressed. But I don’t have depression. It’s not like the last time. It doesn’t last for long enough periods of time to be depression: it gets interrupted by my highs: if it wasn’t for the highs then, yes, it would be depression. But it’s not. And that’s all I know.
Maybe another time. Another day. Another line. Another way.
That’s it for now.
Sal
X