After much gnashing of teeth and shedding of dollars, our brave heroine finally saw a headmeat professional last week. And Praise Buddha, I think I found a perfect match the first time out. He’s funny, unorthodox (which Mama really likes), a big fan of patients who are in control of their own health, and hip to my various idiosyncrasies, both bipolar induced and otherwise (sometimes I’m not sure which are which anymore).
Which leads to one of the very first things he said to me, which is basically to remember that I have bipolar illness, not that I AM bipolar. Very subtle, but very important apparently. Not unless I want an existential crisis to go along with everything else, which is so very very easy to slide into (and already have to a certain extent).
It would be nice, though, to know when this constant malaise will go away. It would be so nice to just wake up happy one morning. Part of me feels like a clock that’s slowly running down. Every stressor makes the clock run just a little bit slower, like it’s being weighted down, one thing at a time. Broken washing machine. Child with cavities. Child with school anger problem (I can’t say I blame her, school sucks even more now than it did when I went). Aging cats. Aging house. Aging vehicles. Impending summer (gee I can’t wait until it breaks 100F for the first time, not). Never enough money, never enough time, never enough anything to just take care of life.
Sometimes I’d like to just curl up in a corner and I wonder if life will ever be any different. Will I ever be able to travel again? Will there ever be a day we don’t seem to struggle? Will there ever be more than a few days when I don’t feel like crying? Will there ever be more things to look forward to than there are to dread? Will I ever have anything to show for my life other than being someone’s wife or mother? Which is not to say that I don’t love my family, but I was raised to believe that a person ought to be their own without being defined by others, and I don’t think I’ve ever quite achieved that.
This despairing attitude is why I largely ignore the news and world events. Why should I bother paying any attention to forces that a) don’t care about me, b) I can’t change, and c) will only upset me? I feel completely out of sync with the world I live in and when I pay too close attention to it, my soul aches and I just feel worse. There seems to be so little solace in the world, not unless you happen to be independently wealthy.
Hope. That’s what I’m largely missing. I have very little hope of my life improving, which leads me down the dangerous path of wondering what The Point is.