Jason and I have noticed that this happens with other overly anticipated events. I'm not disappointed with what occurs, just sad that it's over. After a few days of zombie-like behavior I swap into manic mode. This means I can't stand to be still, I'm impulsive and want out of the house at all costs.
Going through these cycles makes me feel so lost. It feels like a huge set back when I had been doing so well. I know I have no control over when these episodes hit but it feels like I should have been more prepared. I could have battened-down the hatches, so to speak. Instead it hit me like a storm and swept me completely out to sea - to finish my sailing metaphor.
I sink. And inevitably Jason and my parents take up all the slack. Living with bipolar and anxiety is not easy. Every day, landmines are laid, ready for the right sort of pressure to detonate them.
Will I wake up manic and angry? Will I even get out of bed when the kids are complaining that they want breakfast? Will I quietly sob in the bathroom after snapping at Penny for something inconsequential?
These demons I fight may only be in my head, but they are oh so real.
Writing and thinking about this exhausts me. I want to go back to bed even though I barely left it yesterday. I'm slowly digging myself out of the trenches. Today I actually felt more like myself even though I got zero hours of sleep last night. My anxiety brain wouldn't let me rest, regardless of how many pills I took.
I have to remember that today was better. Tomorrow will be better still. I look forward with hope that each day will get a little easier until I'm back on stable footing. I have to remind myself that this disease isn't me; it's just a part of who I am. And who I am is stronger than what my brain wants to throw at me.
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