Like a Sieve
I realized that I yet again forgot to tell my doctor about my past hypersexuality. It’s probably not important in the scheme of things, but it’s one of those things I kept meaning to mention. I’m still quite accepting of the Bipolar 2 diagnosis, and figure that the sleeping around like mad was fuelled by drink, loneliness, and lack of sleep more than anything else. But after realizing that it was one of those things that is a good indicator of Bipolar, I keep thinking it should be on record. Even if it doesn’t matter in the scheme of things. I’ll probably forget it every time I go in anyways, ha ha.
Otherwise, I’m just ticking through my Monday to-do, enjoying being in the one air conditioned place I have easy access to that isn’t the supermarket, and thinking about DSM-5. lifeonaxis1 over at Mood Disorder, Not Otherwise Specified linked me to the proposed revisions for the Bipolar spectrum on the back of a comment discussion about how prevalent Bipolar people seem to be in the life of a Bipolar person, and me mentioning that I needed to see what the changes were going to be. I’m not really sure why I want to go over it or what I’m going to find… it’s not like I’m suddenly going to be discounted as Bipolar or anything. My husband helps makes sure of that; he comes to the appointments with me and makes sure I don’t get away with muttering it off like it’s nothing. I do think it’s something, I do think it’s a prevalent influence on my life, but I had to keep my head down for so many years that it still feels a luxury to say, ‘Wahey, not all there.’
And that’s actually a big thing for me – being able to admit to weakness. It feels counterintuitive, yanno? To say that I am down, I am fragile, I need space. I’m too used to hiding it all behind a big thick wall, which seems to invite people throwing their full spite and might against it. But perhaps this expanded self-honesty is working better because I made those efforts to try and cut out the nastiest folks from my life, the ones who thought it mete to try and beat me down to build themselves up. I can’t understand living that way… it strikes me as rather empty and sad. But I guess that’s pressing the Easy button compared to actually looking inside and fighting through that morass. Or something.
Need more coffee. Gonna get on that.
<3
thanks for the link!
i too am finding increasing relief in the limitations of this disorder. it’s like i now have permission stop carrying everything around on my shoulders alone.
I often have the first verse of Personal Holloway in my head for just that reason… there’s part of me that feels very Atlas-tastic. Breaking myself of that will be so good…