Storm Chasing

Well, that was a Big One, a Black Brain-Storm that hurricaned up my coast.  When I say “Big,” I mean lengthy.  I manage all right with depressive episodes that last a couple of weeks, but when they stretch out longer than that, I… well… there’s no other way to put it.  I lose my shit.

I also lose time.  How long did it take to sweep through my mental landscape?  A month? Two?  I lose the shape of individual storm cells, delineated by these little bursts of clear sky.  They start to moosh together until it seems as if Black is all there is. I know that’s not true, but I can’t remember the sunny skies unless I look back in my journal or ask someone else.

The Big Fat Lying Brain starts to sound really savvy.  Some of those awful thoughts might be true.  After all, they’re just an Edward Gorey version of what usually rummages around my gray matter.  Paranoia trickles in like lizard sweat.  It’s really not a pleasant place, my brain.

How-some-ever, the inside-skies cleared yesterday, so I’ve got time to get ready for the next blow.  I will be taking a drawing class for the next three weeks during the time I would normally see my therapist (it’s one of those Good News/Bad News situations), but she’s available by phone, so I shan’t worry.

I’m also trying to take teeny-tiny steps in a positive direction: drink a glass of water when I get up in the morning, commit to swimming on Thursday mornings, and choose Subway instead of other take-out.

I’m still searching for the Muskogee Routine and hope this will be a start.  Small additions.  Tiny sandbags in the dike wall.

I always feel better with a plan, whether I can carry it out or not.  Incremental turns toward wellness feels gentle.

And I’m all for a Gentle Adventure.

The Other Shoe

It was inevitable.  Stress + Bipolar Disorder = Bipolar Disorder.

Also a Dark SideI flopped around all yesterday morning, hoping this dive might even out before it was time to go in to work, but, alas, no.  So, I Instant Messaged my boss and a couple of my co-workers, and tried not to feel like a dip-shit on top of the bipolar mess.

It’s still really hard for me to believe that a workplace—any workplace—will put up with my limitations as an employee.  On top of what we’ve already negotiated, I have these days—these unpredictable absences.  They’re why I’ve lost or quit every other job I’ve ever had.  But, so far, everyone seems very cool about it.  More than that, all the responses have been incredibly kind and supportive.

Don’t worry.  Take care of yourself.  Sending Light and Healing.

I honestly don’t know what to do with that.  It’s a completely new experience for me.  And I’m afraid to trust it.

I’m also in a deep dive, so whatever my brain is churning out is unreliable.  My best course is to ignore all thought happening up there and concentrate on clearing an easy path through the weekend.

ITS FamilyPart of that will be to indulge in a little Richard Armitage.  His new movie “Into the Storm” is out this weekend.  It’s basically a horror movie with a killer tornado as the monster.  It’s special effects-driven—bad news for an actual story or interesting characters.  Oh, well.  It’s Richard.  And when I meet him in London (because I will wait at the stage door with the rest of the Armitage Army), I can tell him his Midwestern accent was spot-on.

I’m also going to Anytime Fitness since the Y is closed for cleaning.  Losing my pool for a whole week always throws me, so I knew I needed a real option this year.  They’ve got a nice recumbent bike, and I’ve got my iPod.  It will work.

I also started working on new cards with the old photos I found at my parents’ house.  I haven’t felt like doing art for a long time, but I know how it can help keep keep my brain busy on something positive.  I will make myself sit at my art table.  Something will come of it.

So, there’s A Plan.  And there’s Acceptance.  And there’s Waiting.

And that’s the best a bipolar girl can do when it’s raining shoes.

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