Pretty Good Regardless

My computer just refreshed and I'm writing this for the second time - maybe it's a sign I needed to reword some things. Oh well.

I am recovering from a manic depressive episode right now. My first in 5 1/2 months - the longest I've ever gone without one AND my first ever that hasn't resulted in me moving out of the country or going to hospitalized treatment. How's that for progress?

It's really hard for me to accept that I'm going to be dealing with bipolar disorder for the rest of my life. It really pisses me off actually. I was doing SO good too. When I started going downhill in September, I stopped doing virtually anything. I wasn't going to class, work, or my internship, and I was sleeping as much as possible. About 2 1/2 weeks ago, I went into full mania mode. I would lie awake in bed shaking and crying because all I wanted to do was sleep and I couldn't. I would only eat out (if I did eat) because I was convinced cooking kept me from doing things I really needed to do. I rearranged my room 3 times in one week because something didn't feel "right". These seem really silly, and they're just a few small examples, but they feel so real and so concerning when I'm in the moment. I must get as much done today as possible, no sleep! I'll miss out on something huge and exciting if I cooked at home, what a waste of time! My house would burn down if my bedroom furniture wasn't aligned perfectly, of course! Life during a manic episode doesn't feel real, it doesn't feel rational or okay in any sense. The only person who makes my drama feel a little less life-or-death is my therapist. Bless her heart.

As I said, this is the first episode I've had after my longest time without one. I really am progressing and it's exciting to recognize when I'm able to. After about a week of very little sleep, I called my therapist and went to my eating disorder doctor for a check-up. I was sad, mad, and annoyed at myself and the whole situation. I met with my eating doctor at 8 am last Monday, crying as I sat in the waiting room. I kept asking her, "How did I let this happen again? I was doing so good."

She stopped me and said, "Tess, if you had cancer and your body relapsed, you wouldn't blame yourself. It's the same with bipolar. It's called a disorder for a reason; it's not your fault."

This made me feel pretty stupid, honestly, because of course, she's right. Bipolar disorder, along with other mood disorders and whatnot, is a psychological/medical disorder that typically requires medication and some sort of therapy in order to maintain a life worth living. At least in my case. So are cancers, diseases, and other physical and mental diagnoses. So why do we not consider mental illnesses to be a part of that group? Why do I, even though I take my handful of medication every day and do my therapy and see my doctors, blame myself for these things going on, or not going on, in my brain? Why is this my fault? Why am I convinced that this is my fault?

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I've gone through my Instagram and other blog posts recently to reflect on the things I've felt and the ways I've gotten myself through those feelings over the last couple of years. One of the things I wrote two years ago after my second week in my first treatment program - "Today is the first actual legitimate good day I've had in a while and I want to say... wait for it, as always, but not because the good days make it all worth it. Because sometimes they don't. But they do feel pretty dang good regardless." The week before, I paired a picture of the sky with the words, "[...] but I matched the sky and I wanted to remember it. The sky is always there for us to look up to and dream about, and I hope you always choose to do that. No reason to look down unless you're making sure your feet are still moving forward."

It feels really strange to look back and see pictures and read what I've written - obviously, I'm different now. Everyone changes, but I see those pictures and barely know who that is anymore and I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing or if it's normal to feel that way. I see the person in those pictures and I truly don't realize that's what I looked like, and maybe that's the body dysmorphia talking, but I really don't know what I look like now either. I feel out of my body, almost. It's not in a way of feeling "ugly" or anything

either, it's just a feeling of... "That's me?". I don't really have a reason for writing this out, but if you have ever felt this way, let's chat and pick our brains on why this is.

Back to the original thought - things don't make a lot of sense. Life really doesn't make any sense and I've talked previously about my rationale that nothing matters. I'm sticking to it. Now having gotten out of my manic episode healthily for the first time ever, I know that I can do this. I really can, no matter how much I want to die or how absolutely fucking miserable I feel, it will not last. And yes, it may last for a while, I know that. It may last for weeks, months, years. I had 4 entire years straight that I was throwing every single destructive coping skill at my problems and I was convinced I would not survive. I planned on not surviving, actually. It's taken the hardest, soul-crushing work I've ever had to do, but 4 years later, my episode lasted 2 months and I feel good again. I truly never, ever thought that that would happen.

The point of telling you this isn't to brag that I'm okay and life is fine. The point is to tell you that it sucks, it is the worst feeling you will likely ever feel, but it will go away. And it may come back, but it will go away again. Repetition, medication, therapy, meditation (whatever version works for you), journaling, hobbies, friends and family, coworkers, work, animals, WHATEVER it is - search for it. Do not stop until you find it, the things that work for you and make you feel better. Voice what you need and if you don't know, say that too! Mental illness, mental health, any chemical imbalance in the brain is not our fault - even when we are told it is by people who don't understand. There are steps to make in your ongoing recovery process that are your responsibility, but even that does not come without support. Your life goal should be dedicated to finding what makes you feel more YOU. Things that make you feel like yourself, whoever that is at any given moment. Find a passion, find 10 passions, and don't stop until you have the people and the things that make you feel alive in preparation for the moments you feel like being alive is the most difficult thing to do.

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And like I said two years ago, the good days may not always be worth it, because the things we go through feel like they'll never end, but even a good day in the midst of all the bad... does feel pretty good regardless.

Nice chatting with you.

Love it already,

Tess M