You may have noticed the change to the title of my blog here, it's actually a return to a title I used to use.
Its origin lies in that my primary care doctor has referred to my Bipolar Disorder 1 as my "being from Jupiter" when I'm manic and "not wanting to rejoin the rest of us down here on Earth."
I found the statement as apt as any he could have made given the situation. It was just at the time of my diagnosis which only came after years of misdiagnosis (Major Depression... that was all wrong...) in the summer of 2011.
Ever since then I've been warring with my brain on a new battlefield; one that made more sense but at the same time left more room for the minefield of despair to be laid, hidden just this step to the right or left. And I don't have any idea which way to turn.
About six weeks ago I started on a new med; it was a major change as it was swapped out for the main med in my cocktail, one I'd been taking almost since diagnosis at various dosages.
At first this new drug, proclaimed to be capable of miracles by my doctor, seemed to really be helping. Emotions that had felt dulled and numbed out of existence were suddenly awake again; I could feel. But then I started feeling EVERYTHING all at once and recently, while trying to start working on an old manuscript with the hope of posting it to Wattpad, I felt the familiar rush of mania setting in and knew I had to nip it in the bud. So I adjusted another of my meds to kick the mania where it lives and lo and behold, it did just that. I am no longer manic. The problem is now I have no motivation to do anything again.
No spark of desire to try to resurrect an old manuscript I was so enamored of a few weeks ago. No desire to write, period.
Why am I blogging about this? Because I know that others out there are struggling too with their creativity and Bipolar/Bipolar meds and I want them to know they're not alone. I want to know I'm not alone.
Bipolar can be a very lonely illness.
I'm back to writing you all love letters from Jupiter, or wherever in that general neighborhood I might currently be resident of.
I heard a great idea from motivational writer Meg Kissack on Twitter the other day. She said, quote, "Use your creativity to heal yourself first, then move outwards." (YOU CAN FIND Meg at @megkissack on Twitter and at https://thathummingbirdlife.com/ on the web if you want to check her out, she's truly awesome.)
What an idea! What a concept! That I might use my writing and painting to try to heal my soul before I venture on to go back to sharing it with the world as I once did so easily...that could really help.
Healing should be my 'word' for 2018, especially since the year is off to such a rough start (I was sick over the holidays and then our cat was diagnosed with a chronic condition...though a lot of my friends have had it a lot worse and I know that, my heart goes out to them all...) it's mostly the Bipolar I am struggling with, still.
Monday I see my doctor, and we will talk about this new wonder med and whether or not some of the awful side effects I seem to be having are related or unrelated. Then we'll talk about whether or not it's worth continuing with it. Somehow I think I know what she's going to say, she's going to want me to try and endure the onslaught of emotions that I've felt ever since I started taking it instead of retreating back into that zombie like state I was in from my old med.
At this point, I honestly don't know which one is less painful. Wish me luck...please.
Sending out love and hugs to anyone in need of them.
Saturday, January 13, 2018
Monday, December 11, 2017
Deep blue with gold accents, the cover called to me. It said “Fill me with words, your words, your days, your life.”
Only upon holding the journal in my hands did I realize I felt a deep sense of sadness; my life didn’t feel ‘worthy’ of the book I held.
I ended up putting it back that day, not buying it. Later, I picked up a cheaper journal with a boring paper cover and so-called inspirational quotes in it that did little to inspire me at all; on the contrary they seemed to mock me, because my life felt so uninspired.
I was sleeping more than 16 hours a day at that point, in the depths of a Bipolar depression that refused to relent at all. I lost most of 2017 to sleep, and a lot of 2016 to it as well. As long as I can remember at this point, with the exception of a week here or there spent traveling. Those weeks were forced, and I was barely able to deal with the fear and anxiety while they were happening. Somehow, I got through them.
Now, with a drastic change in meds (dropping one and starting another one I hopefully can afford going forward, time will tell…) I finally feel like I’m waking up.
The thing about emotions waking up is that you can’t pick and choose which ones rise to the surface. When they wake, they ALL wake and it can be confusing and intense to say the very least of it. But it feels better than staying numb, which I had been for so very long.
So, on Saturday I was back at Barnes and Noble.
They still had the book. The one my life didn’t feel worthy of this past year.
This time I bought it (on sale, to boot.)
My life is worthy of its faux gilded edges and pretty cover.
What’s more, I want to try to get back to being more myself than I have been in a long time, and make my life feel even more worthy of the pretty journal instead of the cheap, throw-away ones.
I bought the book. Now I just have to commit words to the pages in the coming year, and hope that in 2018 I will feel much more alive than I did in 2017.