Alll i have to do RIGHT NOW is breathe. All I have to do right now is BREATHE. I repeat this manta. I hear my friends voice bringing me back to the present. It’s 1:18 am and I suddenly feel the blood moving through my veins. Is it pulsing? Is this what it feels like to be alive? So many thoughts. So many words. So many things to do.
thrash around in the bed wrestling w my mind. Night has long settled in and it feels too bright. My favorite pillow no longer provides comfort. Perhaps I should go for a drive, calm my nerves trolling the empty streets.
What is my plan? I need a plan. I have an intake appointment for partial day outpatient program tomorrow. When I made the call I was desperate. I felt I could no longer tolerate the commanding voices and visuals of my own death. I wasn’t sure I was safe.
But now, now..I’m okay. Full of vim and vigor. Writing, lots of writing and even more ideas. Laughter flows out of me. Sometimes I think it’s contagious. I am funny again. Witty even. My husband might actually want to be around me. Last week I was making deals with the devil. So you can see why I would finally make the call. If you knew me, you might even mention you are proud of me for taking care of myself. I tend not to do that.
It’s not the outpatient program itself, I like it. It has saved my life in the past. It’s the concession that I am not functioning well enough on my own. It’s the fact that I have to miss work AGAIN because of my bipolar. This is the part that burns me up and keeps me from calling sooner.
I digress. It seems this may not be necessary after all. I can carry out my work duties and meet deadlines like the best of them. In fact, I was thinking I might start to work a little later and maybe on weekends to get ahead of the game. Show em what I’m worth. There is still time for me to be a hero.
Back to my plan. I suppose I can just waltz into the therapists office resigned I don’t need the extra help after all. I don’t want to cancel the appointment as I enjoy talking with her and it’s somewhere to be completely honest and forthcoming. She is gentle and kind and non judgmental. She has seen me at my worst. Perhaps we can chat like old friends, like normal people. She will shake my hand and say its good to see me. I think that’s ironic. If I am seeing her at all it’s because I’m on the cusp of crisis or fresh out of a crisis. How can that be regarded as good? Maybe she’s implying its good I made the decision to reach out…before the crisis. I guess it could be that she genuinely likes me too. When I’m well, I really have the capacity to be a good wife, good friend, good sister, good daughter and good worker. In the grips of my disease I am none of those things. I have to admit that really burns me up too. Bipolar strips me of many things.
But, not today!
123 RV. Forgiveness is from the soul, permission is for the mind.
This post was written by the Fanatic, not shoe1000