itmightnotbeok

I see the same concept all over the internet . “One day you won’t remember this sadness”. “One day you won’t remember how hard this was”. “One day this season will feel like a distant memory”.

Am I crazy?

Like is this true for most people?

This seems so, completely opposite of my experience so far in life.

Idk about you but for me, I actually only remember the sadness. I only remember the dark. It’s the good I forget. The moments that make it all worth it.

I started keeping a photo album of Polaroids. I take a camera with me most everywhere I go. I call the album, my “reasons to stay alive” book.

I have to have tangible reminders that things aren’t always so dark.

And even in that album, are photos of people and places that represent grief that I will never forget, without ever having to lay eyes on them again. Slow dancing with a friend I thought I’d have forever, the treehouse, the ocean we watched swell and break where we started our ten day pact, selfies with friends that are now strangers. Some I’ll admit were moments where I didn’t recognize my own face, that it wasn’t me in the photo… I threw those out.

I surround myself with evidence of good memories in every room, just as a reminder that I have been happy. That I do have friends. That I really can still feel the gratitude of my heart still beating. I have tattoos that say things like “we are the ones who live, I’m with my friends, I promise to never leave myself, and have you ever been in love”. If I didn’t actively have these visual reminders, I really would forget.

I don’t keep reminders of the bad intentionally because I know they wont fade.

Those reminders live in me. When a memory flashes through my mind unannounced like a bird that flies in front of your windshield, or in every single song I shared with someone, or in places that feel unsafe or hold beloved memories turned bitter, in seasons coming and going without the same people to celebrate with, in furniture I’ve cried on, been held on, in my bed that’s too big for me, the ink on my skin, or in my dreams, I remember.

It’s not even remembering. That’s not the right word because I never, ever forget.

The challenge for me is that it’s the good I can’t grasp for long. It slips through my fingers. It’s the darkness that puts out the light. Not the light that puts out the darkness.

Is this reversible? Is it a matter of just not letting go like I’ve been told?

Or is it just reality. That some people will spend their whole lives having to remind themselves why they should get out of bed, instead of reminding themselves in their joy that things weren’t always easy.

Idk.

It’s not that one is harder. It’s not that I’m envious of seeing things differently. It’s just foreign to me.

Maybe some of us really are just prone to the dark, as others are to the light.

I’ve always been a night owl anyway.

I slipped on black ice today. I wasn’t expecting to get out of my car only to have my feet hit the ground and slide out from underneath me. I was dazed but otherwise felt no pain.

I forgot about it all day in fact.

But, as I went to lay in my bed after work, I noticed my hip was too sore to lay on my left side.

The hours have ticked by, and new places have started to ache. Bruises are starting to form in places I didn’t even know hit the ground.

Is this what this heartbreak will be like?

I felt nothing. I carried on, dazed, but otherwise pain free.

But as I lay here, I can feel the pain of loneliness beginning to form. I can start to see the bruises of broken promises, dreams that will never come true, and they are starting to ache.

With time my bruises will heal and I won’t feel sore anymore, I won’t be black and blue.

I hope my heart is the same.

I hope this is a setback, and I am still on the path to healing.

Maybe I spoke too soon.

One of the most frustrating things about being someone who has manic and depressive episodes is that I have a hard time judging what true happiness and sadness look like. I can spend an entire day feeling great, only to dissociate in my bed that night, thinking about my every movement I made, trying to see the signs. I find myself overthinking joyful moments, worrying that I am not actually happy, but going into a manic episode. Being that I’m someone who does spend more of their time on the low end of emotions, feeling good can be an alarm for something more sinister. It’s something my therapist tries to discourage. To just allow myself to feel good, rather than searching for the source. But the damage I have done, the hurt that I have caused in times of mania, I find it impossible to not try and be proactive anymore.
So what AM I feeling?
Here’s what I know to be true for me:
Big changes can cause manic episodes.
I often will go into an episode to cover shame, or intense feelings that I am not at that time able to process.
Manic episodes lead me to be impulsive, have poor judgement, and make huge life changes very suddenly.
Manic episodes and relapse are BFF.
Currently:
I am going through a big change.
I should be having intense emotions over it.
But I’m not.
That, I feel like, is my biggest worry.
Last week I was more productive, more positive, more at peace than I have felt in a long time.
I spent so much time with my kids. We crafted, we baked, we cooked, we had movie nights. We all slept in the same bed. We ate chocolate and laughed and just felt at ease.
I am confused.
Am I really that disconnected so soon that I would feel more joy than I feel sorrow? That I would feel peace rather than chaos?
Or am I covering those emotions without realizing it?
I haven’t had high levels of energy. I still have slept in, gone to bed early and taken tons of naps. I have made absolutely no decisions other than cutting my hair. I have had no desire to be impulsive or to invite more disfunction into my life. And I haven’t relapsed, or had an urge to.
Instead of the intense happiness and energy that mania can bring,
I feel a slow joy. I feel calm rather than chaos. I feel clear headed. Most importantly, as a defense for this hopefully being real, I feel no shame.
I have nothing to generate shame. If anything, I am proud of myself.
Maybe the hard emotions are hiding, or maybe I already spent the last few months feeling them.
Time will tell.
This is a post to myself. A reminder to look back on in a few weeks and check in with where my heads at.
I spent the last few years being criticized for being an overthinker. I was told that I make my life harder by choosing to think about things more than required.
I can honestly tell you that most of my overthinking is involuntary, and if I could choose not to ruminate on terrible things I would give up A LOT to have that burden removed.
But this part, having to think about where my emotions are coming from, and if it’s cause for alarm, this part I choose. I choose to take responsibility for my mistakes, I choose to be prepared. Is it annoying and defeating to have to second guess a day full of laughter? Absolutely. But I am committed to never losing myself again, and so I choose to overthink.
So what am I feeling?
I really don’t know at this point. But I’m watching myself, I’m listening to myself, so that way I can enjoy this feeling for as long as it will last.
Maybe this is mania, maybe this is healing.
I’ll know in a few weeks.

I’m still wearing your earrings, your necklace, your bracelet.

“I finally broke you.”

I’m still here.

I said I would never go back to brown hair.

I said I would never allow myself to relapse.

I said I would never question my worth again.

I said I would never stop taking my meds.

I said I would never give up on the love I thought was mine.

I said I would never lose myself.

But

I let my roots grow too long.

I let myself fall back into old ways.

I let myself be overcome with shame and self doubt to the point of collapse.

I let myself “forget” how badly I needed my pills.

I let myself stop chasing a love that didn’t want to stay.

I let myself forget who I am.

I don’t recognize my reflection any more.

All I see is the roots. The inches of darkness that symbolize how long it’s been since I looked in the mirror. Since I cared about myself. The roots that stand out against my skin and my eyes. The roots I swore I would never let be this long again.

I don’t have anything left to give. My heart feels like it’s missing from my chest. It must be there, I can feel it beating. But the emotions I have been so proud of it producing, the love, the joy, the excitement, are gone. I only have a reminder of its presence because of the aching feeling of loss.

Are hearts responsible for the intensity of loneliness? Are they the ones that send us images of faces, and memories we wish we could forget?

If so, my heart is very much alive, just working a different job.

My roots have grown out so long I don’t know if there’s any saving it.

I said I would never have brown hair again. It symbolized a time I didn’t want to remember.

What happens when I want to forget the blonde too?

I said I would never have brown hair again.

I said I would never lose you.

Nothing seems to matter like it did.

Maybe I’ll go back to brown.

Maybe I will forget.

What do I do with the worry that is blocking my ability to think of anything else?

What do I do when my brain is reliving past conversations, past memories, past heartbreak like a track that never ends?

What do I do when a voice inside of me is screaming “You know what’s happening”?

What do I do when I can’t trust my thoughts to be my own?

What do I do when I worry I won’t be enough, but I worry that worrying will make that even more of a reality?

What do I do when I worry if I keep it all in I will lose myself, but if I let it out I will confuse and hurt people?

What do I do when everyone tells me to keep being strong and I don’t know how to respond?

Nothing is infinite.

One day, the strength will run out.