I am happy. In this moment. I am myself. And in this moment, I am also terrified.
I have been in a deep depression for over three months, with some ultra rapid cycling in the month preceding that. For a week now, I have felt more like myself. This is good news. But I am scared.
My thoughts are hopeful again. I see possibilities concerning music projects and potential research for my Ph.D., should I get accepted to the program. My thoughts are not manic. But they are fluid. They are positive. They are rational. All good things. But I am scared.
When you’ve flipped from depression to mania as many times as I have, you learn to fear that normalcy. Because maybe it’s just something you’re breezing by on the way to the hard edge of a manic high.
I used to chase that high. Back when I was diagnosed with Bipolar Type II. Back when I only dealt with hypomania, a mania “lite,” if you will. That’s addictive, a sweet spot where I exist in my purest, most awesome form. Sure, there are some consequences, but nothing major.
But now, since my illness has morphed into Bipolar Type I Rapid Cycling, I get full-blown manias, where I do things I am ashamed of. Never mind that I literally can’t control myself and therefore shouldn’t blame myself. That’s another discussion for another day.
The point is, mania is awful now. And I am worried, every time I get better after a depression, that I will skyrocket up into that place where I lose myself all over again in an altogether different way.
I’d almost rather be mildly depressed, because that’s not dangerous. It’s a shitty place to be, I’ll give you that. But it’s not scary.
It’s hard, just letting myself be happy. But I’m trying. Because I deserve some happiness. I’m hoping I coast here for a while, that I can savor some time just being me. So. I’m happy. And breathing through the fear.
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