I’ve been angry and I cannot help it. I’m angry at every little thing lately and I feel like I cannot control it. Irritability is my least favorite attribute to this lovely disease of mine and it makes me feel sick. I hate feeling sick, as I’m sure most people do. I want to control it but I have no control so now I have anxiety and oh, how well do they mix together. I hope whoever reads this is in better spirits and I wish you well.
I have so many words waiting to come out and even though I wish to pour them out I can’t.
words trapped, all jumbled and messy in my head,
the words are halted and I can’t think of a single word in a world so filled with words and it should be a grand
but it’s not and I can’t seem to find a way to pull myself up and string a few sentences together because no words can seem to fit the way I’m feeling;
and what I’m feeling is
I learned to let go.
I have been holding on to so much doubt and instability.
I finally said no to it, I won’t allow it to hurt me anymore.
I let it go.
In doing so, I feel less pressure, I feel lighter.
I feel better.
And that’s what I’m here to do.
To whoever reads this; it takes small steps, but be proud of them, they’re progress.
I have found myself to be completely infuriated at my lack of motivation to do anything. I know I’ve hit the depressive side of things in my bipolar disorder when I feel sluggish. The only good thing that I can say is coming out of it is my ability to complete my “tasks” throughout the day. I am still doing what needs to be done but I just feel so blah and empty about all of it and that makes me more depressed. It’s a vicious cycle and I’m trying to climb out of it. I hope whoever is reading this is coming out on top of things that they are struggling with and I wish you luck.
Washing over me like a spark at an electric fence, no words come out; gasping and begging for air I am gripped tightly.
No release, no comfort, only tendrils of doubt; smothering.
I am wading a pool of uneasiness and overthinking. Shivers in my bones tell me its all wrong, all of it.
But what is it?
They won’t tell me, they just coil like vipers ready to snap. Ready to swaddle my being with a hundred ton rocks, crippling and crushing; weighing me down
I am gasping and reaching, but the parachute is always too far.
Always too far.
For a long time I
could feel something was off; the constant edginess and uneasiness I felt
around everything and everyone. The back and forth racing thoughts that could
no longer hold my attention because that was already off on its own endeavor of
grand design. The constant feeling of hopelessness or elevated sense of
self-worth at the drop of a hat. The tortuous and monotonous agitation felt for
even the most minute thing.
coursing through your very being, bad decisions are like nuclear bombs. Great
in design and interpretation; earth-shattering and wreckage ensue and unfold.
No taking back, no going back. Money flies out of my hand like a kid in an
arcade saving all his tickets for that one useless item he’ll never touch again
after that day. Bills and fees piling on the table with no sign of a breaking
point. No “save game and return later” option in this master quest
I’ve sent myself on. Spiraling and swirling, filled with destruction and
The only end in
sight is clarity, reasoning, and understanding. Understanding my brain isn’t
capable of fulfilling unmet needs. Understanding outside help isn’t weakness
and defeat, it is power and control. It is the ability to tell yourself no, I
am not this person, I am greater than this, I have power over this and I can
Strength is power.
My power is unwavering.
“This class is
not for the light-hearted. Neither is this program, and to deal with the insane
amount of shit you are going to see and have to deal with; you’ll need to take
care of yours first. Take care of your shit and figure it out. It is the only
way you are going to be able to be successful in this industry.”
motivated me because I had shit that I was absolutely not dealing with and had
no plans to start. But this resonated in me, felt like I was meant to hear it.
My shit needed to be taken care of and dealt with. I took the sign as an
invitation to turn my research paper into a challenge for myself. Could I write
a research paper researching what I had to come to terms with and really
understand? Research for what I felt I had no control over and that gripped and
strangled me tighter and tighter each and every day?
I could and I did.
Disorder and Death Anxiety”, a research paper, by me.