I’ve been meaning to make an update for a while. To be honest, I’ve had too much to say that it’s all become a jumbled mess, stuck in my mind and unwilling to come forth.
It’s been four months since I last made a post, and on reflection, I see that this year has been something else entirely. Not at all what I would call successful. A failure, a fall, and a struggle to maintain the good that I had before.
I thought that what I had last year was working for me. That I was doing well, and I was. But things are never quite as good as you think they are, and the things that were hidden then are hidden no longer. My hypochondriasis turned out to be a systemic arthritis. All those symptoms make so much sense now.
So where have I been and what have I been doing?
At first I was rapid cycling, and at the same time experiencing bouts of fatigue and fevers and joint pain that remained unexplained until two months ago. At one point I was hypomanic for a month, and then severely depressed for another. And now? I am just existing. Not exactly happy, but not exactly miserable either. I’m better than I was, but I’m pulled down by the illness in my bones and I’m no more than a shadow of the person that I once was. Not because of Bipolar. For once, the illness that has followed me around for a long time seems more like a friend than my enemy. I crave its brilliance and its horror. It was easier. It was familiar. It had rules and ways in and out of it. I knew my way around it, and I knew how to handle it. It was easy. Or at least, easier.
But now I find myself floating in the middle of nowhere. Everywhere I turn I see a horizon, and nothing more. No land, no hope, no nothing. Treading water, that’s what I’ve been doing. I’m trying to swim forward now, despite the fact it hurts like hell. I’m swimming in some direction, but I don’t know what it is. I know where I’m going: normality, and some form of health. I know what I want: to finish my studies, to be a clinical psychologist, to have my masters. I don’t know if I’ll get there, but I keep on going anyway. One arm in front of the other, one leg kicks and then another. Moving onward and forward. So slowly, so painfully, but it’s the attempt that counts, not the result.
I guess what I mean to say, is that I’ve found myself somewhere that I never wanted to be…a place that I never imagined I would be. I don’t like it. It feels hopeless. It’s confusing and it’s frightening. To be perfectly honest, it scares the crap out of me. One more obstacle blocking me from where I want to be.
Someone once told me that God only gives you as much as you can handle. I don’t know if I believe in God, but I like the sentiment. The idea that I will only ever get as much as I can take. It makes me think that I can deal with this, at least for a moment. And moments of hope are better than none at all.
Now you know how I am, please fill me in. How are you?