As I sit here feeling like a m£$%f%^n’ adult with all the stuff I’ve been getting done lately, I am wary. I know at some point, my brain is going to throw up its hands, declare, ‘Fuck this shit!’, and plunge me back into the lack of functioning known as depression. I don’t know when it will, only that it eventually will.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to be getting stuff done. It makes me feel like I assume normal people feel — capable of doing things as desire comes to mind. It feels especially good when it comes to writing, as I consider it a challenge to my fractured brain at the best of times. That I can sit here and see a notebook filling up with notes for a story, with more written in notes than I have ever written for a story before… well. I have to say it feels pretty good. To know that I can put it aside and pick up my crochet and make productive stuff happen there too is even niftier. I enjoy doing things, yanno? As mine Heatherbat has often said, she cannot imagine me ever stopping working, because I need to be doing things. I don’t know whether it’s my way of running from my brain trying to poison me with intrusive and hateful thoughts or what, but doing and producing is always satisfying.
Anyways, just wanted to get that out. I think I’m going to go make a nice mug of chamomile tea, pop on my earworm of the week (Swoon by Silversun Pickups), and see if I can write out a few more chapter summaries. And if not, that’s okay too. I’m doing my best to stretch out this feeling good and doing good by not doing too much. As most of us with bipolar know, that is an extremely easy mistake to fall into time and time again.