Anxiety is like being a little child, sitting in time out. I watch my friends and family play about, carefree, having a good time while I am banished to watch from a corner seat.
As I sit in seclusion, I wonder who imposed this time out? Was it me, someone else, some disease? Why was it imposed? Was it truly because I had the audacity to run out of insurance and couldn’t afford meds for three months? I wonder if the penalty matches the crime here, and I wonder if payment will ever be made in full so that I can go back to enjoying life and being myself uninhibited. The doctors and technicians don’t seem to have any more answers than I do.
All histrionic indicators show that this time out (as do all time outs) will indeed subside (and be small in the scope of all things), but I am constantly waiting for that erroneous data, forcing me to take a new sample space all over again. One that does in fact, include permanent anxiety. I’m pondering on when to call it erroneous data. When does it actually cross that line (I picture a blinking red light and alarm going off – in the absence of a solid formula), and you say “well, I guess I’m going to have anxiety from now on.”? Part of me thinks doing this would be a relief and part of me dreads the thought of giving up. All of me wants to normalize. The question is (and this stops the process): normalize to what?
I guess that’s the biggest question in the life of a bi-polar person. What should I normalize to? The anxiety feels as regular as the highs and lows and in betweens at this point. I never know whether I’m going to have the energy to feel bored today and wish that I could go out, feeling trapped. Or am I going to be so tired I can’t keep my eyes open and body alert enough to be out of bed for more than a half hour in the next 24? Like the toddler, I feel eschewed for an eternity. I have no more clue about whether this will end than the child has about whether or not he will ever be allowed to play again and the questions seem to be bigger than the answers.