I may be bi-polar, but I'm medicated

A little window into the bi-polar world

Alone

Sometimes I wonder where she went.  That fun-loving, adventurous soul – the one who slept with Trusty Boyfriend/Knight In Shining Armor on the night they met.  In fact, the one who wasn’t supposed to be at that party anyway, but was invited out by a friend at the last minute.  The one who would make new friends without even a thought, simply by being there and being herself.  It doesn’t seem like that long ago, and I don’t remember changing (is it a trick of the means perhaps?).  To say that who I am now is a shell of my former self would be giving it to much credit – the old self is gone, cast aside somewhere along a dusty dryland wheat road leading to nowhere.  The only thing left is the dust on the road and the destination is so isolated and destitute you can see the nothingness for miles around.

I’m not sure how it got to be this way.  I’m not even sure when the changes started.  I only know that I am desperately alone and longing for the comfort of my own company.  I still do things, although it’s more difficult to perform.  I go places (as long as they are on the schedule for today) I do things (as long as they are on the list for today.)  I do chores (okay, those are always on the books).  The things that used to make me feel so alive and passionate now merely assuage the anxiety and paranoia to a tolerable level.  I can’t imagine reaching out to a new person with the kind of bravery required to create an actual interaction, much less a relationship.  The relationships I have are strained at best and more often crumbling or decrepit beyond use.  I know that reaching out is important and “therapeutic” but I just can’t help thinking the solution starts inside me.  If I could just coax myself out long enough to play, I would feel good again.  If I could cajole myself into comforting me I would feel secure.  If I could be my own best friend, I could make new friends and connections – I would be able to try new things, go new places and enjoy what I’ve got or where I’m at.

I keep scrounging around along that deserted road, looking for the irrigation pipeline and pump that used to be me, willing the water within to irrigate so that I may propagate.  I hope I find myself again someday.  They say I will and because I don’t know what else to do, I comply with treatment plans.  I always wonder though whether or not I’m lost for good this time.

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