I have so many thoughts, and they are not flowing in any semblance of order today. There is no rhyme or reason to what is coming to my mind. It is kind of like a popcorn machine making a batch. Here is an idea, there is another, and then a third. Nothing brings them together, there is no binding agent, this is a gluten free babble. You have been warned.
It has come to my attention that my writing is as inconsistent as my moods tend to be especially of late. I tend to write the most when I am either manic or depressed. And when I am in the in between the well is dry. Recently I have been going between feeling good and feeling depressed, thankfully there has not been any mania of late (except maybe last Saturday when out of boredom I cleaned the house).
I have things to say (always I do), but none seem worthy enough to put down on paper. They are not just “right” and therefore are not deemed appropriate to share with the world. I have concluded that it is also the volleying between the different states (mania, existing and depression) that cause the lack of writing. I am either totally in love with life, noticing all the special and trivial things, existing and making the most out of the day and my life or I am depressed and struggling to make it through the day without the desire to sleep away the day to escape my sadness.
Hotdogs and Shame
Yesterday I had a hotdog for lunch. It was the best hotdog I think I had in my life. Simply made in the microwave with a little bit of yellow mustard on a gluten and dairy free bun. I was in heaven for the five minutes it took me to eat it. Then after that my brain got to thinking about my upcoming psych appointment and how I needed to share that although two weeks ago I was on cloud 9, that cloud is far gone now and I am standing alone, outside in a down pour of rain.
The shame that is associated with the change in moods (especially in such short amounts of turn around times) eats me up. Why can’t I control this? Why does this keep happening? What am I am doing wrong? And worst of all, what is wrong with me.
I am learning that there is nothing wrong with me. I have a condition where my brain is unique and does not function like others that makes me very sensitive to outside stimuli.
Throw in a pandemic and quite frankly I am probably doing better than I care to admit for fear of being boastful.
Right now life is hard. I struggle every morning to get ready for work. The act of leaving the house feels like a colossal effort. The getting ready, the pure act of opening the door and getting in my car and driving. It all takes immense energy and discipline. I once read that when motivation runs out that discipline sets in. Right now I am in full discipline mode. I am lacking motivation but am pushing myself to do what needs to be done.
More Admissions (just said differently)
I have been struggling. Its been two weeks of the area just above hell. Not sure what that place is called. I am falling into a depression but hanging on for dear life doing all I can to not succumb to the inevitable. Just two weeks ago I was on cloud 9, life was grand and sparkly, and I was certain some recent treatments that I received had worked and were worth the time and effort put into them. And then I started to slip. And when I say slip, I mean I slipped and landed hard on my bum, spilling my can of soda and dropping my gloriously delicious hot dog (with yellow mustard on a gluten and dairy free bun, be still my pounding heart).
It is always super hard for me to admit when I am slipping. I like to blame it on a number of things. The weather, what I ate, stress from work, the inability to keep my eyes open past 8 pm, and waking up at 6 am every morning even though every ounce of me wants to sleep until 8 am.
This go around was no different. I made a bunch of excuses and after several therapy calls where I just cried (what a waste of money!), and how I can basically cry on command every day, I had to admit that it wasn’t just an off day, or a hot weather day, or an “I don’t like my outfit day” it was depression and something needed to be done.
I anxiously waited for my psych appointment and of course I cried. I explained what life had been like and how I was miserable. How I was extremely frustrated because I had been doing so well and was so excited about doing so good, but then the bottom dropped out. That I was struggling to get out of bed every morning. I feel defeated.
For me, there is the confusion (still) of why this happens (the ups and downs). I know about bipolar disorder like the way I know the geography of the back of my hand, the freckles in their specific spots. So I know that this is something that is unique with my brain and how I am especially sensitive to outside stimuli. But I still just want to be better. I have lost track the number of times, with tears streaming down my face I recited those words, “I just want to be better”.
I am not even sure what better looks like. But I imagine that it includes stability and joy. I am doing much of what is within my power to be the best that I can be, but it never seems to be good enough. I think, “if I could just be better, more perfect, this wouldn’t be happening. I need to try harder, because right now I am failing.”
Such harsh words. So filled with ridicule and condemning. Unforgiving and even making expectations that are just not attainable.
I am not failure. I have a medical condition. One that prevents me from being the person I once was. And I think that brings us to the icing on the cake. I am continually comparing myself to who I was and romanticizing what my life was prior to 2016. I have blinders on and am unable to see how unhealthy my life was, but my brain keeps telling me I need to be more like what I was like before, even though how I was led to my downfall and a number of horrible consequences for the choices.
Now is the time to grieve this life and move past it. To say, “that is what it was back then, and now I am in a new place, a healthy place, a place of balance.” Speak it into existence. That is what needs to be done.