I have had a busy week and it is just Day 2. Almost to the third day. Anyway, I have developed some plans and am hoping they work out. I am slowly trying to work things out with my life. I constantly feel in flux and am just trying to survive.
First problem of the current week: hot flashes. I had a lupron shot about a month ago… 3 weeks… and I am entering the pseudo-menopausal effects. So, hot flashes and mood swings. If I thought a lobotomy would help, I would probably beg my doctor to sign me up for the next available ice-pick. I am pulling through, but each day brings with it new emotional battles and extreme weariness.
One upside to all of my time spent at home has been the happiness of my dog. He seriously grins all the time lately. I ask if he wants to go outside and his face breaks out into a goofy grin and he practically leaps for joy, running to the door and back to make certain I am on my way.
I am reaching for joy in the small things. I enjoy my dog, Rorschach, and my time spent with my family. I miss being active and doing some things, but am trying to make peace with my need for recovery.
My one frustration is all of the television I watch. I miss reading several books, sometimes in one day. I miss writing chapters and stories and essays in an afternoon. I miss my old self, the self before mental illness.
I will admit it, I am angry about my life right now. I am angry about my hormones, my arthritis, but mostly about bipolar. I argued against the diagnosis for years. I was not crazy like the stories my doctors told me of other patients with this disease. I flat-out told one doctor he was wrong. I had severe difficulties adjusting to this disease. I wanted to erase it from my experience.
Then, one month, I was manic. I was manic for most of a month. I went on a spending spree. I bought a new car, dozens of CDs (they were still “in” back then), and cleaned my apartment for about 48 hours straight in between working 9 hour shifts. I was awake for about 72 hours and then my doctor said, “You are manic.” That brought me to my knees. I was ashamed of myself for succumbing to a disease that I had no control over. I crashed.
I want wholeness for my life. I would love to live without medicine. I would love to exist peacefully with my body and mind. Unfortunately, I feel at constant war. I have been therapized until I fear there is no further progress I can make. I have hit a stalemate with my disease. I will survive, but it will be a daily exercise in balance.
As I have said before, I want more. I know there are other people out there, suffering with diseases, that just want normalcy; they want more. I am jealous of people who just attack life without worrying about the compensation their bodies and minds will request. I envy the ability some people have to keep going. I remember a time when I was able to do that, but not really. There was always a cost. Always.
I am glad that I have survived this long. I am unsure what my life holds, but, for right now, it holds a tenuous grasp on living life as best as I can. I want a life worth living, but, to be honest, I feel like it is unattainable. I feel as though so much is unattainable these days. I reach for small joys and hope for bigger ones.