Deserving

Do you ever wonder, when joy comes your way, if you deserve it. If perhaps the fates got it wrong and that eventually, like an errant payment to a bank account, it’ll soon be rectified and you will return to the monotony or misery of yesterday.

I wonder.

I wonder if I am allowed to be happy and who gets to decide either way. I wonder if I am in control of my own happiness and if so, is that happiness ever actually real if I am the one to allow it to filter into my life.

I wonder what happiness is and if I’m doing it the right way. I wonder if wondering that is the antithesis of happiness in itself.

I question whether I am good enough and with each slip up, episode or swinging mood, I wonder why others would go to the effort of being anywhere near me.

I feel as though I am constantly passing and failing tests simultaneously. As I please one so I disappoint another.

I feel as though I am the hard task for others to uptake. I just show up and spend enjoyable time with them and they work hard to be with me, to tolerate the many facets of me, to cope with me… Do they dread another slip into the darkness as much as I do?

Do people ever get to the point in their lives where they have absolutely no insecurities? Is it possible to just be completely secure in your own being and not worry at all about the impact of your self on the lives of other people. What do I have to offer people? I have been empty, nothing but a vessel full of melancholy, for so long…

Happiness is seeping through the cracks in my emotional armour, unbidden and foreign to me. I don’t know what to do with the light that touches my soul but it warms me from the inside out and though I might question how deserving I am of it – I know I will hold on to it as long as it will have me. Security makes an attempt to follow but it will surely take time to penetrate my untrusting mind.

Is it time to admit that things are going well and stop looking for tragedy to strike?

Advertisements

Anxiety

Anxiety has been eating me alive.

I was 21 when I had my breakdown. I was ill for quite some time before then but the breakdown is the thing that took everything from me.

Being in the midst of a breakdown is terrifying. I didn’t know what it was at the time and I’m not sure I’d have cared, all I knew was that the world was suffocating me, darkness was a closer friend than all those before and that I was lost; perhaps forever. I was a towering inferno of agony. I don’t remember great chunks of my life and I’ll never get those memories back; perhaps I don’t want to – I was not in my mind. I was gone, I was a shell and because I was not in my mind I didn’t learn how to function, how to live – I didn’t want to live. I never learnt how to cope with emotions, I only had a two of them and they were desperate misery and seething anger. I didn’t learn how to cope in social situations, how to behave – I isolated myself, I drove people away from me, I was not fun to be around.

I feel, sometimes, devoid of enough tools to cope. I feel uncertain of the accuracy of my actions and that induces crippling anxieties which only serve to make me more socially inept; stumbling over my words and offering a nervous giggle when no giggle is necessary. Saying things that are inappropriate – or not saying anything at all and still spending the rest of eternity living these inane conversations in the vain hope that eventually I will get it right and have cracked the elusive code of conversation.

I have come so far. I don’t strive for isolation any more, yet I still find myself isolated. I do partake in conversation instead of shying away from it – no more the silent mouse in the corner. I speak to people every day now, I laugh and participate and there is seldom a day where I don’t have to talk to someone new or cope in some form of social setting but still anxiety plagues me and it frustrates me that I can’t move past it. Some days I’m not sure I can push through it – but I do, I have and I will likely continue to. Still, what is so difficult about being around people?! What am I afraid of? Why must I seek acceptance in every facet of my life? Does the approval or disapproval matter when coming from a relative stranger?

Sometimes, though less often now, I wish I had let the breakdown have me. It would have been so much simpler, easier and less painful if I had just let it win and embraced the darkness. I would be done now. Free?

There are so many things that I had to learn to do – I had to learn to function, to sleep properly, to wash, to organise, to talk, to share, to live, to breathe… and so many of these things come so naturally to me now – perhaps one day I will be able to interact with others without anxiety and paranoia. But for now, I’ll keep trying, I’ll strive to be more transparent and less defensive and perhaps I’ll just embrace my woeful social ineptitude.

 

Alone

There’s a melancholy stirring in the corners of my mind

A breeding swath of darkness

and its growing all the time

There’s an aching sense of misery

In the recess of my soul

I lost the will to fight it

or was it never my goal?

There’s a clinging sense of isolation

Within these barren walls

For there is only I

No other heart that calls

I thought one day I’d find you

The other half of me

but oh how I was mistaken

T’was nought but fantasy

Locked within my mind

With myself for company

What purpose does it serve,

this empty agony

 

Depressed, not depressed.

When will I learn that circumstance does not make for depression?! Exacerbate it, perhaps. It fuels, aids and abets depression but it is not depression – it is not misery and thus when circumstance is gone it does not take misery with it…

I am not within a depressive episode to rival all that have come before; not even close. But I am not happy either. I am lonely, numb and yet morose. I am tired. I know that I don’t need to be happy all the time – that in itself would not be a normal temperament but I would like to find a sense of contentment, I would like to lose this paranoid anxiety that hangs over my head each day. I would like to feel… I would just like to feel.

Mental illness is such an inward thing that it is hard to see when I am truly in need of something and lacking in what I deserve and when the ‘woe is me’ selfish streak of self-pity is rearing its head. I feel unappreciated in so many ways and I give and give and give and feel like there is no two ways to this street. I am giving too much and have less than nothing left, my arms, my heart, my mind are left barren, abused, used, spent… is this real? Or am I simply of the mind-set that the world is against me – it wouldn’t be the first time.

I keep thinking about what my life encompasses. I have good people around me – I am lucky but if you strip my life away I am work and children. If my children were to leave, which they will one day; I am work and nothing more… My life is empty, save the grace of loving and living for my children and eventually I will need to live without the drive that loving and living for them gives me – I can’t imagine I shall even find a reason to leave my bed. Perhaps I should begin to address that sooner rather than later.

I ask myself more and more often why I fight this vicious affliction that is Bipolar disorder. Far simpler to lay down and let it feast upon me.

One day I’ll find a reason for my fight – a reason for me, my soul, my needs and not the world surrounding.

 

2016 and fighting regression

2016 has been an awful year for me, there have been moments of light in the gloom but overall the darkness has pervaded so profusely that it has encompassed most anything it came across. Only now; in October, am I starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel and enjoying the race to the end of this year of regression, loss and massive change.

I had taken myself back to my psychiatrist after some of the worst regression since my breakdown this year. People think that I am so strong – they tell me as much, they worry but in the same token they do not… and considering I am still here and fighting I suppose they are right to do so but during this episode I really was concerned, terrified even, about whether I would make it out of the other end and if I was capable of enduring, it was a struggle even to  get home safely on some days after work and how I even continued to go to work every day is beyond me.

I have now been discharged from my psychiatrist again – no doubt I will be back but I hope that it is in the distant future and that now I can begin to rebuild my management structure and find a new sense of contentment. I am pleased that I did not take the offer of medication this time – even though I was in some desperate situations and faced some tough circumstances once the circumstance was removed the depression was not so dire that I can’t fight my way out.. though had my circumstance lasted longer I am certain medication would have been invaluable to my staying mental wellbeing.

Having to move home 4 months ago played a large part in my regression and struggle and since moving it has been hard to follow the management techniques I once used to stay stable. I have realised that moving into a new environment has negated a lot of the methods I used to use to find calm and restore order in the cataclysm of biology that is my brain. I have lost my ‘safe place’ lost my anchor and place to hide. I feel vulnerable here and as though I need to face the world a little more than I did previously. I was angry at first – furious, in fact, that my previous years of work to find the ever elusive balance meant nothing in the face of these new challenges and that I was essentially thrust back to square one, back to being lost.

However, once I had accepted that I needed to start again and build new management techniques and find new ways to cope I began to see a change – it is gradual and I am still woefully depressed, my anxiety is higher than usual but I can feel the control returning to me and logic is beginning to come in to play where it had no power before. Frustratingly it even seems that I may be building a stronger foundation of coping mechanisms than I had hastily constructed before and so it would seem that all things really do happen for a reason and that there is a positive to come out of all that has happened this year.

I now just wish for a little peace in what has been such a riot of storms.

I’d give up forever…

I’ve had a bad day, when I say this it always confuses the people I have spent time with that day; to them, I seemed to be perfectly fine, I’m sure I smiled a little, laughed even, conversed and even told a few jokes but me and my twisted brain know better than to think I’m alright. I forgot to take my medication this morning and did not realise until this evening and so I have been an unpredictable Bipolar time bomb all day…

I was within the throes of a rather high manic episode all morning, though ironically at the time I was marvelling at what I believed to be an ever elusive ‘normal’ mood; I felt outstanding, confident and motivated – I planned a new career, mapped my future, I felt beautiful and desirable (I’m not suggesting that I am unattractive but believing you are the centre of the universe and knowing you are not ugly are two very different things!) I revelled within delusions about relationships that should not and certainly will not ever come to fruition, I made a study plan for someone else, I cleaned, I sang… and my mind raced. I know that to the average person these things may seem rather trivial and maybe even normal, but the thing that makes them so disturbing to experience is the complete lack of control over these actions; I did not make a conscious decision to clean today, it was a compulsion, a need to move faster than my body is capable of moving. All of it pushing me ever closer to the edge of my capabilities; the consequences of which are that this evening I have been thrust into a deep and pensive low, where I will berate myself for not recognising a high mood until it led to this fiery hell of contemplation and lethargy.

Chief on the priorities of my faults to dissect while I am within this particular low mood is my dreadful relationship history and so in the spirit of painful honesty I am going to share the analytical skills of my merciless brain.

I have always been a hopeless romantic, I dreamt of being whisked off my feet and loved so fully that it would almost become a tangible thing. Realism was never my strong point…

Bipolar disorder, anxiety and a chronic lack of self-worth mixed in with my shockingly unrealistic ideal of love and affection destroyed any hope I had of a meaningful and worthwhile relationship. I sought the first person who showed me any measure of interest who, unsurprisingly, turned out to be the wrong person for me; I did not learn my lesson there though, I followed the very same pattern again and again… I rushed in forcing my perceived milestones of a perfect relationship, trying in vain to create my romantic ideal but of course all that led to was resentment and pain – for both me and those partners…

It took me a very, very long time to realise that those men were not bad people because they didn’t fit my ideal of a perfect partner just as I am not a bad person because we were not right for each other. Bad situations and circumstances were created because I tried to change people, I tried to force love, I settled for what I thought I was worth but was not right and those actions lead to both my mind and theirs rebelling, creating a cataclysmic set of events.

From the age of 14 I jumped from relationship to relationship looking desperately for someone willing to love me in the way I thought I needed and I had not been single for a significant amount of time until I left my husband 3 and a half years ago. This time, spent as a single woman, has enabled me to see that the love I was searching for was mine, I know it sounds cliché and more than a little cheesy but until I spent time by myself I had not really realised how thoroughly I loathed my entire being and that all I was really searching for was my own acceptance. This time alone has enabled me to search myself, learn who I am when not connected and influenced by someone else and to see that I actually like the person I have the potential to be.

I still worry that I will never find anyone who can love me unconditionally and then I remember that I have my beautiful children who look to me for love, guidance and acceptance; my family who strive to be the rigidity and structure I need and my wonderful friends who may be sparse in number but are gargantuan in heart and have shown me more unconditional love than I ever dreamt of. So though I still dream of romance and want a love that is just for me, I know without a doubt that I no longer need it.