You need to be strong
You need to let them go
You need to find the one who doesn’t break your heart
I can’t think today. It’s Friday. It’s been one hell of a long week. I should be happy, right? TGIF. And while half (or more) of the nation is living in frigid temperatures and shoveling out from under a winter storm, I am living in sunshine and 70 degree weather – in February. I should be euphoric, but I am not. I am miserable. I am sitting at my desk, staring at the wall clock and wondering how much more of this day I can take, because in all honesty I just want to grab my bag and get the hell out of here as fast as I can. Not to go to the beach. Not to sit in the sunshine. But to be a vampire in my apartment, where I can be cloistered away from everything and everyone and simply think or stare at the walls or do whatever I need to do just to be alone and to BE.
My mind is too jumbled to think in a straight line right now. All the synapses are firing incorrectly and I don’t know what to do to get them realigned. I need sleep – I know that. I need decent food, because I’ve either barely eaten this week or just grabbed junk at the convenience store, rather than care about what I put in this body. I know I need to exercise again. I should start meditating again. I get all of this. And yet it feels like my feet are stuck in the mud and I am sinking lower and lower into the quicksand.
I take two white pills at night to help me sleep – or would it be more accurate to say they help me pass out? For someone who has suffered from insomnia since being a child, it is blissful to know that I will not spend the night staring at the ceiling listening to my neighbor, or dealing with the constant roller coaster of thoughts that never end. Yet I wake up every morning exhausted, as I do not think they give me true sleep and as each day marches on I feel the weight of the lack of absolute rest falling heavily on my shoulders. My eyes are puffy. My skin looks off. But at least my hair looks good today. There’s that upshot.
My partner, now that he is speaking to me again, is pressuring me to move back to the state where he lives, as his thinly veiled threat when we “made up” the other night was, I can only do this for another year. Well, you know what? I can’t do THIS for much longer than I am now. I am the breadwinner. I am the one keeping us insured while our country goes to hell in a hand basket, and all the advances we had made in the last decade have been threatened in the last three weeks. God, it’s only been three weeks. And I can’t live without having some form of income or health coverage, because I AM BIPOLAR. I want to scream it over and over in his face, because at times it feels as if he thinks it’s simply the flu or a cold and I will recover in a week or two. I will stop “spinning”. But there is no recovery for me. There is no magic pill, or wand, or fairy godmother who will take this poison from my brain, my body. It will always be a part of me.
Every time I sink this low, and my body feels this ancient, I find the words of a song rolling around and around in my head, “lord, I’m much too young to feel this damn old”. I think those words have been going over and over in my head for the past 4 years, and I am having a really hard time these days believing that it ever gets better. I am not trying to play the victim (even though I have been accused of that too many times this week, this year, to count). I just want a better life. Other people have better lives. Yes, we all struggle with something, but jesus how did my life get so fucked up? How did I come to hate it and myself this much?
I wish I believed in miracles, but the last one I believed in died on me. And from that day forward, I became Sisyphus, damned to roll a giant boulder up a hill only to watch as it falls back down again, all my work, my willpower, having been for naught. Nothing I seem to do works the way it used to – during that halcyon period where I would think something into existence and it would appear. Now life is a constant struggle – there are battles everywhere, not just in my head but with others, with life, with simply trying to exist and be happy. Most days I wish they would just fry my brain so I would have no memories, nothing happy nor sad – a clean slate. I would just be – staring out a window, safe from the outside world, locked up in a closed ward.
Because I don’t know what hope there is. Obviously I am desperately trying to hold all the pieces of Humpty Dumpty together and act like an adult, when all I really feel like is that I have fallen off the wall and nothing can put me together again. No one. No drug. No place. Nothing.
I am simply lost. And drowning.
© Sorrow & Kindness