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Have you ever watched the patterns of emotion in a toddler on a day they haven’t taken a nap…It’s like waves bashing against a confused shore. Well that was pretty much me this whole week.

I hate using my bipolar tag as an excuse. It’s something I manage, not something I want to struggle with. I do not medicate, by choice. A healthy diet and semi-regular yoga or running help to balance my ups and downs. I cling to the things that make me happiest: my kids and my job(s). But that is not always a perfect fix, and I know it doesn’t work for everyone. Between the weather and busy schedules and my own personal things, I have been drowning a little. I didn’t even see it coming. For most of the week, I stayed in pajamas on my couch or bed with a book and some tea. When I did leave my space, it was a short-lived roam around the house where I ended up forgetting why I got up in the first place. Even eating was a hassle. At one point, I forced down a yogurt only to spend a fair amount of time with a stomach ache and wishing I hadn’t eaten at all. Since I have battled years of an eating disorder as well, weeks like this one pose a great threat. Everything I cannot control reminds me just how much I crave being in control. Stress is my biggest trigger.

When my mind and body are on the verge of existential meltdown, I have to find an outlet – the one thing that can keep me from melting into a fucking puddle. Usually I can write or read it out. Nothing was working this time around. My thoughts were so messy that I just couldn’t break through. Of course, I had moments of okayness. I am able to function enough to make meals for my children and keep up with some of my day-to-day tasks. Thanks to text messaging and social media, I can be reached without concern. However, the feelings of darkness affect every aspect of my life.

Luckily, it was spring break in terms of school. I can barely keep up this semester as it is. Not so lucky was my business partner, who had to pick up the slack while I wallowed. She was more than understanding when I missed a couple days of much needed labor at our spot. I couldn’t commit to doing anything really, not even taking care of myself. It’s a rare occasion when I go 48 hours without lipstick, so it’s sad to say that I took two bubble baths and zero showers. I saved every ounce of personhood inside for my mothering duties. The occasions I had to leave the house, one of them an emotionally taxing encounter, left me exhausted. My body was running on fumes and the false sense of energy that came and went was solely thanks to my true love: coffee.

What I always find interesting about myself is how well I can appear to be holding it together. Or how well I I am appearing to hold it all together. I can tame the shaky hands and growling stomach, slap on a smile, and make a disheveled outfit look intentional. What is even more interesting is that everyone is so used to my antics that they no longer ask if I’m okay. I don’t expect them to. It is just another layer to the eccentric and awkward person I have become. People are as comfortable with making excuses for me as I have become with making them for myself. No one responds when the waves are manic happiness, and they certainly don’t acknowledge the waves of anger and/or tears. This would only make it worse, right? It’s going to end soon and go back to normal.

My biggest fear is that the next time it won’t. That the lights will be out permanently. This haziness that stays for days sometimes will follow me forever like a shadow. Or I will hurt someone beyond repair with my actions and carry more guilt than I already do. The most devastating possibility, I will lose the self I have worked so hard to understand. The chemicals in my brain will all gather and decide to throw a bonfire, burn this place to the ground. Of course, this isn’t rational – another product of my squalid mind. But the fear is enough to shake me.

It’s surprising when, just as the tide comes and goes, I wake up on a Friday morning without achy bones and minus the desire to stay under the sheets. Nothing has changed, so I can’t explain why everything is better. But I’m grateful that it is.

Over the years, I have learned how to make these transitions smoother. Avoid giving everyone around me sea sickness. Being honest and taking responsibility for my behavior is a relatively newfound skill. I use my words deliberately and intentionally. I stay sober to avoid the chaos it has created in the past. I have begun to trust in friendship. The ones who love me will accept my difficulties as long as they see that I am trying. I don’t have to choke on the saltwater, because they are willing to toss me a lifesaver. These people know who they are. My hope is that I will acquire more ways to cope, and that weeks like this will be less frequent and intense. But truthfully, it’s impossible to say with this disorder. I will always be swimming against the current, but I am beginning to find comfort in riding the waves.

[Photo credits to Arizona]

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