I neglect this blog. I forget about it. Sometimes for a few months. Sometimes for close to a year. I wish I maintained it, and I’m at a point once again where I really want to begin posting on here regularly. Because every few months, without fail, there’s something that happens to make me feel so deeply trapped inside myself that there is nowhere else to turn other than this blog. I know that no one is actively “listening” to me, but there’s some small chance that someone will hear me and understand, and that’s solace. My diary, well, that’s something that my boyfriend might find so it’s somehow less private than the internet. He’s as loving as they come, but he doesn’t have the strength to deal with the negativity that seeps into my psyche when I get like this. Part of what makes living with bipolar disorder so hard, even if I have it mostly under control, is that it’s not really OK to talk about it.
And I know, I know. I sound self-serious and dramatic. I can step outside myself, for a moment, and know that in a few days I will probably feel better. But that doesn’t make right now feel much better. I’m at work, sitting at my desk, and I know I’m lucky to have this job and this relatively stable life. But today, I can barely keep it together. Everything and everyone is making me angry. I didn’t sleep well last night. I didn’t eat enough for lunch today.
My boyfriend reminds me when I’m home that I need to take a walk, to do some yoga, to get outside of my head. And he is right. Beyond the medication, the secret to this disease is taking care of yourself. It’s sleep and food and exercise. All of the things you don’t want to do when you’re feeling like you’ve fallen into some deep, dark cavern of your brain and don’t quite know how to find your way out.