Unsustainable Change: The Logistics of Living Bipolar (Dear Cookie Monster)

Unsustainable Change: the Logistics of Living Bipolar

Dear All of You,

(I feel like we don’t even need to address these letters anymore.)

I (age 20) have been thinking about Twenty-Three’s (age 23) letter she wrote yesterday.

I don’t want to put words in her mouth, but I’m pretty sure she was talking about losing time to depression and only feeling alive when she is normal or manic.

She spent most of that “alive” time being dysfunctional or in treatment, so she feels like she has only gotten to actually live a tiny fraction of her life.

Which is pretty depressing.

I think of the moments when we truly felt alive:

Sledding and dancing and kissing and hiking and climbing and laughing and people and sunshine and fog in the morning and bonfires on the beach and dogs and swimming and running and snow and autumn leaves and springtime and colors and roller coasters and music and silence.

Those moments are so scarce compared to the vast oceans of time spent:

Not being able to get out of bed and crying for no reason and daydreaming about ways to kill myself that wouldn’t leave a mess for my family or hurt too much and eating until I can’t breathe and throwing up and drinking and hiding from things that scare me and procrastinating life and watching videos online to make time go by and being paralyzed by indecision and reliving memories again and again until I scream and cry and hurt myself but they still won’t leave me alone.

Something Twenty-Three brought up was unsustainable change

This is the biggest deterrent from trying: there’s no point because things always fall apart.

I’ve accepted this now as a fact in my life:  Anything good is temporary and nothing can survive forever.

So, I’m thinking of things that only need to be good for a little while but still have a lasting impact – like writing.

I can write something while feeling “alive” and it won’t crumble into a million pieces once I’m depressed again.

Twenty-Three wrote that book and Ana (age 25) just started editing it. It’s not possible to put a relationship or a job on pause for 2 years and then just pick it back up.

I am going to keep studying for the school entrance exam even though I doubt anything will come of it. I am going to keep showing up to work and doing as best I can despite depression and hating that job because it’s not the job I’ve always wanted and can only get from going back to school for 6 years.

And I am going to keep writing.

That is the major thing that pulled Twenty-Three through the aftermath of “the Fall,” and Ana (age 25) definitely needs some of that help now. She hasn’t gotten out of bed for 3 days and officially runs out of meds tonight but is terrified of seeing a doctor and so on.

At least she still hasn’t eaten anything.

That should be (is) a bad thing, but I’m so happy some of this extra binge bulk is finally getting eaten away a bit. Maybe if we keep this up for a while, we can wear some actual clothes again.

Best,


Twenty

P.S.

I don’t really feel like that was me (age 20) talking. How are we supposed to separate into our ages? Maybe we should have a writing prompt each week like we had for last week?

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