I woke up after only 4 hours of sleep with a burning throat and river of mucous pouring down my esophagus.
Autumn is here.
The list of things I have to finish before the weekend is up are racing through my mind as I try to pen them into my day planner. Homework. Laundry. Kitchen. I wasted a lot of time yesterday; I feel guilty about that.
It seems as though my mood vibrates erratically between lethargic depression and manic desperation… desperation for purpose and life. To me this is the definition of bipolar disorder although my psychiatrist no longer things it’s the name of my affliction. For a time, it seemed like it was under control with the new medications but now I know that I was simply in a prolonged manic phase which ended rather abruptly two weeks ago.
Several weeks ago, I decided that this would be the first “good” mid-western autumn in my life. Ordinarily, I loathe the colder months. Superficially I say it’s because there’s less to do: you can’t really go outside and it’s hard to get up at 4:00 AM when it’s only 30 degrees in your room. This is a self-fulfilling prophecy, though. It’s not like I ever went outside much in the summer, so there’s no reason autumn or winter should be any different. It’s cold, sure, but it’s a wonderful excuse to practice layering clothes.
I’ve picked out a nice cardigan sweater-jacket to ring in the fall with. Thanks to my second job, and this is primarily the reason I wanted to get one, I’ll be able to get some season-appropriate clothing both in color and type. I’m becoming much more fashion focused in sobriety which I imagine simply has to do with caring about myself more. People who don’t recognize the power of their image are fools.
Hopefully you notice, as I do, that my writing becomes much more structured and reasonable as my depression fades away. I didn’t recognize that until last night and it had a very profound effect on my understanding of my mind. My depression occurs when I become too emotional and not ordered enough, or perhaps those things are a consequence of the depression. The hen or the egg?
I never wanted this blog to become a personal diatribe about my turmoils and victories, I don’t personally find those types of blogs to be very compelling or interesting. If I do write about my life, I want it to have a theme behind it driving the narrative. I’m going to be getting back to doing that as I recover more, certainly. So then, what’s the theme behind this post? Perhaps order rising out of chaos… the phoenix rising from the ashes all the while knowing it will burn out again some day. There’s a great deal of apprehension in that knowledge but I’ve found very little that I can do about it.
If this is what my life is, I will make the best of it.