The Soundtrack of Your Life

Last night I went to a friend's work party with him. While it was not exactly a blast, I was grateful for the chance to go out and get dressed up. On the way there my friend asked me "Have you ever considered that maybe you're not bipolar... maybe you've just been through alot and some days you just can't seem to suppress it?"

Ignoring the fact that suppressing negative feelings is, in itself, not a good thing. And the fact that bipolar disorder symptoms and diagnosis rest all down the line in my maternal family line, the answer to that question is "yes, I have". During the last ten years of my life, I did exactly that. Except I didn't always suppress. Breakdowns and numerous other random and weird situations would account for that. My therapist said she thinks that in many ways I have learned to hold certain aspects of my illness in. She is right. I don't know exactly how or when this began but it did. For the last few days I have had a pretty clear mind. I have sang to the music playing on the radio and not thought about how the words were representations of all the pain in my life. (So dramatic but exactly what happens on a regular basis.) Of course there are songs that remind all of us of certain things in life. However, I believe what would go on in my mind was just torture. Once a song brought back a bad memory, it would swirl in my head... all negative... no positive. And I'd be stuck on it for the remainder of the day, usually. I could NOT stop thinking about it. And usually one bad thought would remind me of something else. And then painful memories would just haunt me. Eventually they would go away and be replaced by another obsession but not always. Usually it was a domino effect. And those would account for what my brain would do on bad days... and God forbid something bad happen on one of my bad days... in walks a new obsession. No real healing, just pain. No real moving on... at least not for longer, more extended periods of time than most of the people I know. This is the first time in my life I feel like I'm healing. I'm allowing the past to reside exactly there. Yes, I did all sorts of stupid things but they don't define who I am. They are fragments of me but not me completely.

Thankfully, I believe I was protected in many ways... many, many ways. As was some of the people I was with. My spiritual director asked me what this protection looks like. I believe in gaurdian angels... and for the first time I am starting to see moments where I think mine showed up. The time I was in Kensington (Philly, not Maryland)... middle of the night... going on a drug run. These drug runs were generally not for myself but I had no qualms with taking my friends to pick up a little of their Captain Jack, whatever their drug of choice may have been. I found myself lost... (as if I actually had a clue where I was going in this particular ghetto)... I had to turn the car around. Time for a super quick k-turn in a gigantic green 1982 Buick Century. If you've ever driven anything around the size or bigger than said car, you know that there's no such thing as a quick k-turn in a city street while driving one of these things. Think: Austin Powers. Well, this super quick k-turn involved backing up and hearing the crunch of someone's car behind me. A little green Toyota and my bumper was connected to their car door, kind of like a puzzle. I stopped for a moment... panic... I didn't want to get in trouble. So, I look to around, a vehicle is coming down the street. I'm sort of blocked in by it and by the fact that I am attached to this Toyota. Slowly, the white Jeep Cherokee that has come along to block me in starts backing up so I can get out. They had to of seen the whole incident but were allowing me to flee the scene of the accident. While they may have also been in the area for the same reason I am still thankful that they did that. Besides not wanting to get caught... what was I going to do? Knock on a door in the middle of the night... excuse me Mr. Drug Dealer who sleeps with a gun... do you know who's car this is? Leave a note? Hi, little white suburban girl here... I hit your car last night. Sorry about that, here's my phone number.... There were no other real options open to me. (And before you say it, yes, there are good people who also live in these neighborhoods but who wants to be the one to try and guess which rowhome belongs to them exactly at 2 in the morning?) I feel bad about leaving a stranger's car like that but I do assure you that getting out of my car that night would have been BAD, very, very bad. Even if only for a moment to check the actual damage.

I'm not proud of what I call my "cringe" moments but they are the little stories that make up part of who I am. I have to forgive myself. I am still responsible for my actions but now, at least, I can start to understand why I found myself in so many predicaments over the years. And maybe learn to laugh at my own stupidity instead of beating myself up for it.

I have begun medication. And my doctor said it would take several days before it starts working. However, just getting sleep is helping much and I could be wrong but I believe it already is starting to help. This is only to take the edge off of things. The psychiatrist should begin heavier doses once I see her. Besides being a little light headed, I really can't complain.

And Meg pulled through the surgery just fine. I'll get her back on Monday and look forward to stopping in to see her today. She's got a morphine type drip going for the pain and they said she is up and walking on her own again.