It’s been some time since I published and I never intended to take such a long hiatus. Life took another unexpected hard turn but I pivoted with more grace than previously able to wield under similar circumstances. I’m yet to figure out the best action plan that cures my bipolar depression, but cracking that code is one of the million-dollar questions I’m intent on solving. Whether it be the chicken or the egg, writing here and in my journal helps lay out my redemptive arc. The journals give voice to my narrative and this Substack constructs accountability exposed to an audience.
“Writer’s Block” for me is a lack of inspiration. My negative self-talk attacks my originality. While I’m within this ~sad yin~ to my ~hypomanic yang~ I simply don’t want to share how I feel. My inner bully hates the idea of boohooing on the internet to strangers, friends, and family. But I know I have comrades in arms who are also fighting this good fight and it is for them, for you, that I find the will to push forward.
As one of my favorite fictional Kong Fu masters would say “I’ve entered the shadow self.” Which is a cooler way of saying that I’ve been pretty down as of late.
Constant coaching from my therapist Dave and encouraging words from my family have brought me back here to continue my work. My depressed mind is fragmented and easily distracted so the following has been collaged together whilst I’ve been digging myself out of the trenches over the past few weeks.
I have to fight my way out.
The first proposed solution my personality has to offer. Oblivious that my current predicament has no external enemy. Don’t get sad, get angry. Angry at who? One person to blame for the monotony of my day-to-day existence? There are simply too many factors to consider. Ultimately, it’s my fault so the rage is faced inward.
I had to dispense with the self-care guardrail routine I’ve kept by only writing while my apartment is clean. It seemed like a good habit. Organize the clutter of one’s room to organize the chaos of one’s mind. Or so the theory goes which I doubt is scientifically measurable.
What I know is that my room is a template for my life, and I’ve learned to gauge my current state of being on its level of tidiness. While I’m hypomanic my bed is made in the morning before work and things are just organized to my liking. Something nice to come home to. Then if conditions escalate and I become MANIC things get a bit more anal. Pencils in the correct order and so on. If psychosis takes me then I’m most likely off on some half-cocked adventure reeked in desperation, therefore not giving a shit about my room or its contents. Depression is messy. A sloppy laziness crossing from one day to the next with no clear beginning or end.
When I first started putting out on Substack I was in the routine of making my bed in the morning before going to the gym and starting my day at work. I was feeling good about myself and as someone with bipolar 1, I’ve been conditioned to believe this feeling forebodes catastrophe. But during that time I put out some content I’m proud of without getting arrested or hospitalized in the prosses. Overall a step in the right direction.
Oh, I did lose my job though…
Or took a forced demotion. Back to the warehouse you nut case.
Without jumping ahead to any spoilers I’ll say that right now my sheets aren’t even on my bed, but at least I’m not currently wallowing in them.
I started cleaning! A process of calibrating my bipolar barometer. How much is too much? Looking around now I can see that’s still not something I have to worry about, yet.
There are thoughts that crop up for me mid-cleaning process that might not come to me otherwise. Starting to recognize how our spacial awareness sways cognition, getting lost in the kung fu of mindless tasks can spark the creative “shower thought.”
Having things tidy helps keep me on task. A task this is but the privilege is what I seek.
“We’re the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War’s a spiritual war… our Great Depression is our lives. We’ve all been raised on television to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won’t. And we’re slowly learning that fact. And we’re very, very pissed off.”
-Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club
This is where my depression takes me. Full on Tyler Durden.
A nihilist toward the world and a hero without a cause. A Rōnin without redemption.
Constricted and entangled by the surrounding populous groupthink. Things financially should have gotten easier by now, but they haven't. Less costs more as we transition to a much more manageable state of “living”. I don’t believe the forces that work in manipulating culture have our best interests at heart. But I’ll digress on that subject for now.
Female companionship would make everything easier, but life says I don’t deserve that now. I need to publicly state that I’m taking a break from dating so that maybe I’ll learn my lesson and actually stop trying to go out while having so little to offer financially. Physically I know what I can attract but it would appear I need to be a millionaire with a six-pack to catch the eye of those I yearn to court. You can’t find love if you’re looking for it right? Such is life.
For now, I’m back to lifting weights in the morning which elevates my mood for a litany of reasons. Starting to attend some (free) yoga classes as I plan on incorporating that enterprise into my future counseling practice to some degree. Work makes me sad most days but I’m pushing through as a means to an end which is the completion of my master’s in Clinical Mental Health Counseling. Bills and rent are crippling to the point where I want to overthrow the empire, but I haven’t started formulating a coup just yet.
Starting back school this month gives me something to look forward to. A hope for a future that’s not more of what I’ve been living the past decade. Accepting the hardships as a pathway to peace, praying that something from this suffering comes back to me full circle on brighter days.
Welcome back ❤️.
Seriously, your words and your presence here have been missed.
I relate so much with your story. I am proud of you for digging yourself out of the trenches. I know how incredibly difficult that is. I’ve clawed myself out of the bipolar depression grave so many times I should have permanent dirt under my fingernails.
Every single word you write matters and has value. Some may never be shared here or to anyone, but all of them are making a difference in how you show up in the world. And we need you.
I love when you said,
“Life took another unexpected hard turn but I pivoted with more grace than previously able to wield under similar circumstances.”
And
“writing here and in my journal helps lay out my redemptive arc.”
This is HUGE!!! And this is HOPE!!! I relate and I am living this too.
You mentioned wanting to figure out an action plan to cure your bipolar depression. I so relate. I haven’t found a cure but I have found an action plan that is helping me live in recovery and remain in the drivers seat of my life. If you are interested, I’d be happy to share more about it. You can email me at, amylee.mcvay@gmail.com.
Cheering for you!
PS. Shout out to your therapist Dave and family members who encouraged you keep showing up. Seriously, we need all the champions.🥹👏👏👏