Ants in my Pants

For the first time in a long time I have a free Monday evening. My husband is working this evening which leaves me here to type away. I find as time goes on it is getting harder and harder to blog. I feel rather antsy about it. I think when I began this process I was looking for yet another miracle. I was hoping for this break through moment where everything would become clear to me and would move on with my life putting this bipolar crap behind me-wishful thinking. But the days come and go and everything pretty much stays the same.

I am not saying that blogging doesn't help. It certainly does. I get the most out of the sense of a greater community. I like knowing there are other people in this world just like me. I like knowing that I can come here and bitch and for the most part the people who visit understand. In that regard I find it far more helpful than the therapist.

The therapist has a textbook understanding of my issues. He can define depression, anxiety and mania but that's not to say he understands it. I think to understand it you need to feel it. To a degree I believe everyone can take moments of their lives and piece together an assemblence of our world. For instance, someone might relate to my depression by relating it to the feelings they had when a family member died. The sadness is parrallel but what do you do when it does not go away? What if every year for atleast 3-4 months out of the year, you feel like grandma died. What if every year, 6 months out of the year, you feel like your father died? Just about eveyone has been anxious at a job interview. But what happens when the anxiety does not subside? Does my therapist know how exhausting it is to carry that sense of fear and urgency with him for days and weeks on end? So I come here and find the few people who know exactly what I mean when I say it. They know exactly how I feel and I no longer have to feel alone.

I am tired of the stasis. I am tired of the low. It is incomprehensible that I have gone so long without a high. I would like to come here and write on a high. I would like to come here drunken with bliss, enthusiasm, pure ignorance and abandoned inhibition. I need that "I can do anything feeling", but it escapes me day after day. I wish there was a way to force it out into the open, wake it up, stir it from its slumber. I wonder what I could be capable of it only I could function on an even keel.

I have grown tired of listening to myself bitch. It seems as though I could bitch and bitch and bitch and the well of bitch inside of me never runs dry, just fills up again with some more bitch. I'm tired. I am going to go to bed. Maybe tomorrow will be the beginning of something different. Maybe tomorrow that pink haired girl will pay me a visit. She's looks and sounds just like me but she so much more fun.