Often I wonder what being bipolar really means. It sucks that’s what it means. I spent the day drowning in oblivion, mostly in a mess of my own creation. I want to reach out to people but I just can’t. I want to connect, but I just can’t. I want to write about all the wonderful things I hope to happen in the New Year, but I just can’t.
Something is stopping me. Something is holding me back. Back in the old days I would say “a demon has got me” but these days the “demon” has a name. It is called Bipolar and it’s my worst fucking enemy ever. I wish I could shut off these feelings. It’s like drowning in a great abyss of emotion that is almost indescribable. The waves come in and squash you, and you’re left feeling powerless, helpless, and hopeless against it. It’s like they come in an annihilate all hopes dreams, and everything you have ever built.
Too much destruction. Too much desolation. I can’t explain what bipolar is. Carrie Fisher’s death has rocked me. I feel I will not outlive my parents and my friends. Every day is a fight that feels like an endless battle. Why do we go on? Because we have faith. A new day will come. Over that horizon we can see it. The light that shines for us, calling us home.
Sometimes it just takes a good friend to show you that light; to remind you that you’re not alone. When you’re directionless, the obstacles seem to outweigh the positives, even hope. But in the wake of all that adversity, there is another day coming. You just have to survive the next day, the next hour, the next minute, the next second. I wish I had something meaningful and insightful to say like Carrie Fisher right now, but I know this:
Take care of yourself. I will take care of me too.
Till next time.