I feel like a complete and utter failure. I’ve had a confusing year and I’ve lost my footing with my beloved blog. Like a cold car engine on a frost-bitten morning, I can’t seem to get going again. To get the pace idling and the stories flowing.
I write and I delete. Then I write again. And delete again. Nothing makes sense and every blogging effort seems to be futile. That includes posting my own work as well as interacting with fellow bloggers’ posts. I can’t seem to read beyond 100 words and my attention scatters.
I feel so angry with bipolar – the way in which it steals my ability to participate in life. Living reeks of ground hog days grinding over and over – get up, get dressed, make it through a days work without incident, crumple into a heap when I get home. Being hyper-vigilant I do nothing ‘wrong’ to anger the ordinary folk. Everything seems taxing and twice as hard to do. Even sleeping has become yet another failure thanks to insomnia.
While I realise I’ve just been diagnosed with early symptoms of psychosis and am feuding with new meds/old meds side effects and withdrawals, I can’t help but feel inadequate, incapable. A great big fat loser who can only manage the bare minimum of the nuts and bolts of life.
Bipolar is a bully. It’s sneaky and it fights dirty. It has me pinned to the ground in a wrestling death grip and I just don’t know how to bounce back.