I just realized something before I drifted off to sleep. I guess it bothered me enough that I woke up just now (4 hours later) with it still in my head. If anyone’s been actively keeping up with my private journal (which isn’t actually private, it’s under the about section) since I started working toward bettering myself, you’ll probably recall how often I talk about how good I was back in the day. Rigid scheduling, strict with my routines. Looked great, felt amazing — albeit prone to bouts of depression or anxiety — I always talk about it. I was spiritually inquisitive, always sought the greater good. I was phenomenal at finding the best in people, too…as I’ve written in the past, I was good enough to call it a part of my career history.
I’ve spent the better part of the last three days cursing myself for having to get on meds again. The diagnosis that I recently received shouldn’t be a shocker, now that I’ve talked with my coach about it. I think she really wanted me to admit that I needed to go to someone with more letters after their name than she has. But the diagnosis isn’t new. It just…I either got really good at covering up until it became a major problem for me again, or bipolar can be dormant. Knowing how adept I am at omitting things out of guilt, fear, shame, etc., it’s most likely the former.
The reason that connects to my past is because back in the day that I gloat about and think fondly of, I was on medication and in therapy. I call it “round one” because what I left last year was connected only by the people involved. There was a distinct split between the time I moved to Colorado so long ago and when I came home — it was there and then that I ended up swimming in great connections and support groups, therapy (twice a week, not unlike now), and the same exact medication I was on back then. When I drifted off to sleep last night, I realized that the only reason I got off of it was because of what I left last year. You know, being prevented from going to medical appointments does that.
I just wish I’d jumped as fast as I could back into actual psychiatry/intensive therapy. I thought “no, it’s the alcohol,” or “no, it’s the trauma.” Actually, it’s all of that. What I was told in that environment had my head on a swivel, whiplashing back and forth between “you don’t need that” to “what’s wrong with you? You should have gotten that already!” In my defense, I couldn’t just jump. Bills don’t pay themselves. Insurance is expensive when you don’t have a “normal” job (or can’t keep one because of what causes you to need medication and therapy). The waiting list to even be considered for disability is years long. The repercussions for being on disability is very strict. It’s such a convoluted situation that, well, I can’t even be mad at myself for everything happening the way it is. It’s why I work so hard to try to follow my instincts and listen to my gut. I don’t trust my emotions at all. Obviously.
I do know that all I want at the end of a good day is to have another good day tomorrow, and the next. I want to not worry about what might send me off on the auto-pilot dopamine copter, and what might cause it to crash, and what I might find when it’s over. (I also wonder how many of these I have where I’m completely cognizant and don’t even realize I’m relapsing.) I’m doing this mood journal to help me see the trends in my mood. Every hour, I get a notification on my phone, go in and mark my mood at the moment, and if there’s a stressor or something making me feel giddy, I write that down. I also write if I feel pressure over any event, and if I feel like I’m omitting something or putting something away for later. The hope is to help me catch when I’m stuffing feelings or shaking up potential soda bottles for a future relapse. If I can manage the stuffings or shakings, which involves calling or texting one of my support folks, then I won’t see myself reaching for unavailable people. It really embarrasses me when I do that, which compounds the relapses. I feel like it shows people that I’m a bad person.
Saying things like that don’t really help, but I mean…it’s where I am. But it’s like my coach said: A monster wouldn’t care. A monster wouldn’t seek help to try to prevent it. A monster wouldn’t work with a coach and psychiatrist to understand the warning signs. A monster wouldn’t be embarrassed or worried about disrespecting boundaries. A monster wouldn’t worry that apologizing would still be overstepping those same boundaries.
Yesterday went well, all things considered. I managed to get my morning routine in, including a walk, and I aced my evening routine after following my coach’s orders to take an extra day off and enjoy snacks and an actual Diet Coke and get lost in a video game. Actually, I played Lego Fortnite with a friendo and learned how to make a self-feeding lumber mill that comes with an endless supply of bananas (it’s not a game breaking exploit as much as it’s a convenience). When it comes to cozy games, this is it. That reminds me, I was going to get Tchia, that was such a cute game. The only thing I didn’t do yesterday was mind my macros. Comfort food is a medical necessity, sometimes, I suppose. I also didn’t get a full night’s sleep. I fell asleep a little after 12:30, and woke up at about 4:45am. I feel rested and chill, but I know this will bite me in the butt in about an hour, so I may find a mobile game I’ve never played and read every stinking detail during the intro so it puts me back to sleep.
Y’all I wish I was normal. I hate where I am. No. I love where I am. I’m proud of myself for getting to now. But damn, why all the circumstances? Why does it feel so damned big? Why does it feel like every final boss on this journey just opens up to another final boss? When do I get to enjoy things and not be afraid of myself? Or other people for that matter…I just want to be okay. I want to have a good day, that leads to another good day, and another…and another…maybe we’ve gotten to the core of all of this like my coach suggested. Maybe we’ve peeled the defenses I built over what I was dealing with, the reactions to the negatives…maybe we got to the nexus of what everything was swirling around.
Maybe the meds and intensive therapy and group sessions, and me staying on top of myself, just like back in the day — maybe that will be what finally sets me on the path to those good days.
I hope so.
And for everyone who’s actually following along, thanks. I don’t know all the visitors, but I know I have a lot of returning folks. It makes me feel like I’m not alone. 💛