The past couple of days I have been “high.” I’ve been feeling good, excited really “up.” But the thing about bipolar is for every up, there is a down. This morning I didn’t want to get up. My bed felt like my safe place like so many times before. I slept 12 hours. Straight. I just didn’t want to face the day. I didn’t want to exist. I wasn’t suicidal, just vapid. If the world ended, I would be okay with that.
It is hard to live this rollercoaster that is bipolar disorder sometimes. Sure, the mania may be intoxicatingly (when not irritable), but the lows are so bad. The commercials talk about loss of interest, no pleasure, hunger or an increased appetite. They have no fucking idea what it is to feel like I feel when I am depressed. Death and decay seems to be what it is about.
I saw my therapist today and we talked about my feeling about all of this and I couldn’t help but cry. This is my life. It will always be my life. But I have to remember that for every down, I will rise again. I always do.