I’m much better now. I’m functional. Productive. Rational… most of the time. And all this without medication or therapy.
But I still have what I call bipolar days. Days when I’m either extremely depressed or unbelievably hyper. Days when i want to punch someone or get beaten up or chop off my body parts or cut myself and see the blood ooze or a zillion other similar things. Days when despite the hunger killing me, I can’t walk till my kitchen and rustle up something for myself or order something online.
I’ve learnt to make sure these days don’t affect work, as much as I can. I sometimes fall short. But that’s ok. You need to know how I’ve been for the past few years to truly appreciate how ok that is.
I talk to myself. Smoke sometimes. And try everything to help calm down. For someone recovering from disassociation, it’s not very easy to cognitively talk to yourself with awareness and not let one take over. But I do it.
It’s a struggle. And I barely survive each bipolar day. Interacting with someone else during those days on a personal level is near impossible. I manage on the phone though.
Even if I find someone who understands… i guess I’ll have to always live alone. Forever.
I love staying alone. But the realisation that it’s probably my only chance at living functionally… sucks. Really sucks.
Several things I’ve realised by myself recently. Including my dysfunctional thinking. This is one realisation I know is slightly wrong. Because am sure someone will be able to understand and together we’ll be able to make something work. Yet in my gut it feels like I’m destined to be alone. Here’s wishing that I’m wrong. Here’s wishing that I don’t harm myself on any bipolar day.