Some days, I feel like a decent version of normal. Other times, I am only slightly eccentric enough to be interesting. And occasionally, it feels like there’s a giant “mental disorder” sign brightly lit over my head.
In the years since the official bipolar diagnosis, I have learned to channel the crazy energy in increasingly healthier ways. Thankfully, I have also learned to prevent emotions from escalating into uncontrollable and socially unacceptable levels. Usually.
The analytical part of me wants to take each piece of craziness apart, examine it, and reassemble myself in a more manageable way. Anxiety levels are creeping up now, thanks in part to a lot of life busyness while being in a depressive cycle.
My mind works differently. The racing chaos of mania dissolves into a twisted spaghetti-like mass of thoughts like:
Feeling alone, even when surrounded by a bunch of great people.
i hate being vulnerable.
“But to cry in front of you, that’s the worst thing I could do.”
Scenes play out as they did this afternoon. My computer sat on the kitchen counter, and I stood in front of it, trying to decide my next move. Work on homework? Work on church? Get dressed first? Choosing one thing means neglecting all the others. And forget focusing on that one thing while thinking about those others. It doesn’t help that the flurry of the weekend’s activities has left our house in disarray. I can’t think straight with all the clutter. Must. Clean. Now.
And that’s how I found myself passionately scrubbing the stovetop. Part of me acknowledged that this coping method beats the crap out of previous bad habits. Another part wonders if crazy motivation cancels out the normalcy of the task. A tiny part says to screw it and just return to those previous bad habits. The ones that temporarily soothe and calm, all the while actually making life more complicated.
But I finish the stove. Next, I’ll move on to the counter. Then the floors, then the bathroom, then my bedroom. When the house feels clean, I will channel the energy into work somehow. Before I know it, I will be tired and it will be bedtime. Another day completed, survived.
Back in the therapy days, we identified that I take on a lot when I’m manic, but become overwhelmed when faced with the ambitious workload later. This month, I’ll be practicing NOvember again. I’ll keep current commitments, but will not be making any new ones.Though this means not going on fun outings or accepting new projects, it allows me to dig out from under this heavy pile of class work, church tasks, and miscellaneous life-in-general. It’s a rest before the insanity (and joy) of December’s Christmas season. No matter what, Christmas is always good.
That’s the joy of bipolarity. What comes down must go up.
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