I can’t say I’ve been happy, but I haven’t really been super-depressed, either. I feel content and more at peace; for now, things are pretty quiet inside my head. There have been a few instances of the “dark core” piping up, but I’ve been able to shut the nasty automatic thoughts down with an efficiency I’ve never experienced before.
Is this what recovery feels like?
I’ve been getting out and taking a walk every night, at least 30 minutes at a time. Sometimes, I go out multiple times, usually when I start feeling restless and trapped in the apartment. It’s such a relief and so freeing to know that I’m not helpless, I’m not trapped. There are places I can go, things to see. I am becoming more comfortable with being alone with myself and just sitting with my thoughts—and my diagnosis.
There’s this huge misconception that people with bipolar disorder are loose cannons, that we’re violent and unpredictable. Crazy. Out of control. I’m learning that while it may happen to the best of us from time to time, it’s certainly not the norm or the default state.
I met a lovely gentleman, also bipolar, on Monday night. We took a walk to Mendota Park at dusk and sat on the rocks by the water, discussing our respective attempts to eliminate our own maps. Just being in the company of someone who knows what it’s like and being able to speak frankly about the ins and outs of this illness was incredibly healing for me, and I found myself able to really relax for the first time since my diagnosis.
There’s not much else to report right now…I have therapy tonight, my first session in three weeks, and I have plenty of things to discuss. A dear friend of mine and D’s is coming into town on Saturday and accompanying me to my tattoo session on Sunday afternoon. I can’t wait to cover up these ugly scars, to remind myself that although it’s a part of my past, it’s just a story now—it’s not happening to me anymore. The worst, for now, seems to be over.