It Will Get Better
I’ve still been in a low. I need to be working on my book, but I can’t bring myself to do it quite yet. Not until I get this whole contract thing figured out.
I’m trying to get in to see a new psychiatrist to hopefully sort out my meds…again. Being low sucks. Beyond words. My whole body hurts. Nothing is fun. I just exist. And generally don’t want to.
I try to put on a happy face for the benefit of my family, for everyone around me…I feel like I’m so transparent though, and it’s obvious to everyone that I’m not really happy. Maybe that’s just my inner monologue getting paranoid.
I just live inside my head so much. I always have. And then when I’m manic, I just blurt out the most inappropriate things…and I take way too many sleeping pills just to fall asleep. I feel like there’s so much abnormal wrapped up into one person.
It’s wonderful to me when I discover there are people out there who are like me, who I can connect with in some of these ways that make me feel like my own personal freakshow. I feel like when I meet these people, like they were sent from God or something, and at just the right time. Like when I’m having the worst time…someone unexpected will come along and say, “Hey, it’s okay. I get it.” That is the greatest.
I know it will get better. I know it will. I have to believe that. I have to believe it for the sake of my family, my children, my life…I wouldn’t wish depression or bipolar disorder on anyone. Not on anyone. Reading about it doesn’t do it justice. Experiencing it is hell. Not constantly…but sometimes. And sometimes it seems like it will never end. The times I can’t write, I can’t function at all…I don’t get it. It’s a mystery to me. I have never once cursed God for this, because I feel very blessed…but I’ve often wondered why.
I just hope and pray – fervently – that the day comes when my medications get figured out once and for all…and I can maybe live a somewhat normal and stable life. It’s been a little rocky until now. I think I can hide it okay from those who I want to, but anyone who knows me at all well knows the truth. I want to be happy. That’s all I want. I want to feel happiness the way “normal” people seem to feel it. I want to want to get out of bed in the morning and I don’t want to want to get back in bed all day long. I want to find enjoyment in daily activities without having everything feel like it’s taking every single ounce of strength I have to perform the most trivial, menial task. I don’t want to push away the people I love because I feel like a burden. I don’t want to sit in my room and hide and cry for hours, not wanting to be here.
I want to be happy.
Everyone keeps telling me it will get better. It will get better.
It will get better.