My personal experience with manic depression or bipolar disorder entangled with my childhood abuse and how they effect each other and my recovery
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
This is my worse part of the day. The morning has been full of ideas and creativity and accomplishments and then I crash. I am full of unstable emotions like a storm ready to erupt. Anger, sadness, doubts, fears are churning and stirring and I want to act on every one of them. I want to grab them and run with them because they are mine. Yes, for no other reason than they are mine. Doesn't matter that they are harmful or hurtful, it is my pain and hurt and no one has any claim to it. Yet, every time I seize them, they do just what they are suppose to do, they hurt me. It feels good for a while like slipping into a comfortable robe until the pain becomes so much I can't get the darn thing off. Every fiber now infused with my being and pumping through my veins. And it takes hours and hours to bleed that ugliness back out. And the thought crosses my mind that I won't do that ever again. Besides I made it out alive, it wasn't so bad after all. As the evening ends and the morn begins this cycle again and I find myself at that mental fork in the road. It is so easy to say, I won't do that again until I am looking at that monster in the eye again and wavering. Why don't I know which way to go? And why do I want to take that bull by the horns and wrestle to the ground every day like I don't have a choice about it?
Well, I did something different with that red and black swirl in the pit of my stomach, this post. Where it takes me from here I don't know, but I just broke the first point of impact. One step, one difference, one link of the chain that is breaking forever more.