I turn to this blog when I am feeling lonely. I wish I could nurture it at other times. But so often, when life is motoring along a steady course, I don’t exactly feel bipolar. I take my medication; I get enough sleep every night; I live my life. And so I forget about this blog.
I oftentimes log on with the intention of deleting the blog altogether: but then–in the same way I can’t ever destroy a journal or a letter that once meant anything to me–I leave it alone.
It’s without warning (don’t you hate that it oftentimes feels like it just hits you?), that my depression sets in. I mean, if I’m being honest, the depression I’m feeling right now was probably triggered by the terrible break up I went through a few months ago. Still, for a while, I was handling my life with a kind of grace that made friends say to me, “Wow–you are doing so well.”
But now I’m not.
Now, with my depressive brain, I am thinking all of the things I always think when I get depressed: you are a failure; you are stupid; you must have driven your ex-boyfriend away; you have a terrible job. The only nice thing about these thoughts is that I’m experienced in living this life of a medicated yet still moody manic-depressive, and I know that they’re fleeting. I know that I will feel better soon. If I didn’t have that to hold on to, it would be hard to get through the day.
And so that’s how I live. Always a version of myself, not quite sure when this person I am is going to disappear into something happier, sadder, angrier, more energetic. And for this reason, I’m never exactly sure who I ever was in the first place.