As I rode the train this week, tom and greg popped into my mind because I’m relapsing and I’m scared. I wander back into the country fair, the theme park where wild rides suspend laws of gravity and time, fun house mirrors distort, all is fake, all is real. The steady one foot before the other becomes a carefully planned out chore, otherwise a headlong rush. The 24-hour non-stop, tracer glow of neon lights, a munch scream, an angry yell, a convulsion of tears. How close am I to that fearful time when I lost complete control; when I felt so broken that I couldn’t be fixed?
Next Saturday, I see the medicating psychiatrist; I haven’t achieved much since I last saw her. I did have some days when I felt grounded, tweaked my resume, joined mental health groups, downloaded, and started using employment and mental health work sheets/work books. Did some research that suggests I’m more of a “mixed bipolar” meaning that I can have hypomanic episodes while remaining severally depressed. I didn’t met the small goals I had set for myself or find the type of krazy glue that hold shattered pieces together to make some semblance of me, even if some of the pieces are a bit misaligned or missing.
Not the best segue, but the last line in Margaret Mitchell’s sweeping Civil War romance, Gone with the Wind, is “after all tomorrow is another day.” It’s also this week’s carry on Tuesday prompt. Once again Keith has chosen a prompt that resonates. I really do hope that tomorrow is truly another day. That I will wake up without the tears, plan a trip into the city, actually finish my resume, not convulse in tears, think of tom and greg and how the mental health system failed them, and not let it fail me.
Dedicated to those who won, are still trying, and lost the battle with mental health issues.
- paul* and marc*: a requiem, part I (phylor.wordpress.com)