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Empty – SFD
“I tried to think about photography today, I looked for things on our walk.” Devin looks at me. Â “That’s good.” He drags out the second word, questioning, waiting for the rest. “I couldn’t. Â Nothing was… good.” He twists his mouth slightly in sympathy. Â And Sir, standing slightly behind me, brushes my hair back behind my ear.
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The Edge
My fingers move over the keys, not typing, just moving because… I have to move. My legs are twitching, my eyes are too wide, I can feel it but I can’t stop. The depression has been ice in my veins, lead shot in my limbs, defeat, sloth. But now it has been enervated like Frankenstein’s monster, a lightning storm in my brain that gave it a hideous semblance of life. Now it is restless movement, snapping temper, too much light, too much sound… too much… too much… touch… get my fucking clothes off of me NOW!
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Shitty First Drafts #3
The murmuration of traffic beyond the line of trees is almost hypnotic as she traces the grain of the worn wood with her fingers and her eyes. The porch creaks as he crosses the old boards and stands, wordless, behind her. A breath of wind makes the sparse spring leaves around the deck whisper. “You’ll get a splinter.” His voice is soft, warm, curling against her ear. She shrugs. A splinter would be something to feel, at least.
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Fear
I had a few better days. Today was… shaky, and tonight it’s falling apart. I had therapy today and it was a particularly tough therapy day. We talked about writing, and talked about what Sir and I talked about the other night and… what I wrote, and my feelings, and what’s happening with my depression and my writing and my bipolar… I’m supposed to try to develop softness towards my fear. We identified that I’m afraid of writing, maybe afraid of seeing myself… because writing is… who I am inside, and I’m afraid of seeing that, and the fear is creating the wall, and if I soften to the fear…
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Struggling
I’m sure I’ve hidden it so well, no one has noticed… but I’ve been struggling a little bit. Nothing life threatening, just crappy. I’m rapid cycling, but at the low end of the spectrum… so… if mood is a continuum… like a number line… and the distance between high mood and low mood is a constant, like… 20… (which it isn’t, there is no constants, but just for now…) I could go up to a high of 20 and a low of 0… or up to a high of 40 and a low of 20… Higher highs, higher lows. Or lower highs, lower lows… Right? It doesn’t actually work that…
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Drop
Well… let me preface all of this with… I think drop just hit me. Could be letdown from work, could be garden-variety bipolar depression, but seems likely that it’s sub drop from playing on Friday night… because… the timing fits… and… because… it seems the most… logical. And right now, I need this to have a reason. I need it to make sense more than bipolar can ever do. So… this is drop. Probably for real, but definitely for my purposes. Drop. Some people explain drop as… you body used up a huge amount of your happiness hormones and it is now depleted until it can make more. I don’t…
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What ifs…
I haven’t eaten for three days. Â My mental processes may be compromised. I’ve had this pain on and off for a week or so, then so intense I can’t eat for the last three days. Â Call to the doctor got me, “Might be an ulcer, or pancreatitis, or just a stomach bug…” Â Helpful! Â Sir is insisting on a Kaiser visit tomorrow. I’ve just been trying to survive the week, but tonight, maybe because it’s a Friday, I went into fatalistic mode. Â Of course this happened. Â Of course I can’t actually do the diet that is my last chance to actually not die from this disease because for some reason my…
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Settling
Last night was, obviously, rough, but I talked to several good friends today and it felt so good to just… to reach out… and meet outstretched hands in return. Â It is still alien to me to share my feelings, to accept compassion, to… talk about… my real self. Â But it was positive and healing, and for those people and others who are probably wondering, I thought I would update today. Â Also, I’m trying to challenge myself to write every day. Â Writing a journal/blog post isn’t exactly my ideal of “writing every day” but I suppose when my baseline is “writing never” I will have to accept that any bar at…
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Perspectives
I had a rough day yesterday. I made some poor choices about caring for myself and my body. Last night I was punished for those choices. This morning I was… not punished really, because it wasn’t for something I did wrong, but… I was punished. Because I can’t use better words than that because I am still embarassed by this aspect of my life and my relationship. And isn’t that just sad?
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So… That happened…
Yeah. So. Life was sucking. Then a rapist bigot became the next president. I’m sure there have been other rapist bigots in the white house… but none of them quite so openly unapologetic about it. So… whole new world!Â
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