I'm still standing... sort of

I am still alive. I have been lazy lately, not walking much, not Trikking much, not writing much. I'm going through one of those times where I am taking those two big steps backwards, awaiting the forward steps that will jut me back into the world I was inhabiting a few short months ago.

I have no real guesses as to what tips me off into my version of oblivion. But it happens when I can't move. Movement is the key. Ya gotta keep those endorphins flowing. I also have noticed that once I start ranting on this blog, then I start feeling better and then who knows, maybe the posts will be interesting... Here's hoping!

Here I am again

I am still breathing, my eyes are open and I am upright, well sitting, just not laying about. I have watched a lot of TV, movies and the inside of my eyelids. I have been out for a few weeks. Part injury, part illness, part bipolar.

I have missed Birdie, my Trikke, the most though. I have not been active for a few weeks and I have lost some of my strength. But that will come back quickly enough, right?

I don't feel very creative or like I have to convey something today, just wanted to have a post in November.

Here we go again

Today I saw a woman pushing a cart full of bags. Her face was sunburned and lined. Her eyes were bloodshot and teary. Her nose was bright red. She had to be about 53 but she looked 68.

I realized she looks how I feel inside when I am on my down cycle. As I stated before bipolar II is sneaky just like the fog. It is a fog that creeps not only into my heart, but into my muscles as well.

Just when I was walking daily, it crippled me into submission. I just tripped. One day on the couch turns into five. My body just aches and there is no reason. I feel sickly. I sleep all day and am awake all night. I usually see both the sun rise and set during the same day.

Calls from friends go unanswered. I start contemplating the meaning of life. Again. I chain smoke cigarettes and I hate each one progressively more than the last. Why...Do...I...Do...This???

And the sugar I eat! Cookies, brownies, cakes, candy, candy, candy. I am diabetic, but I don't think about that while I'm eating.


"Just get out there, Jeri"
coach shouts. "Just do it!"

And I know, now I know, that all I have to do is to pull myself off the couch and take a walk. I don't even care if it's just a block that I walk. "Just get out there," coach Jeri shouts. "Just do it." And so I do. Finally, grudgingly.

I haven't walked for about 8 days now, but I am walking quickly. I am still strong. My pace becomes powerful. I keep going. Each block under my heels makes me feel stronger. I can do this. I can still do 26 blocks without any trouble! My body is still there for me.

I feel like shit because I eat shit (figuratively). If my body is my machine, then I perform as well as the meals I miss, or the ones I over-indulge during. Don't get me wrong, I love feeling on top of the world. And that is how I feel when all pistons are firing correctly. And I'm eating greens, blues, reds and yellows.

So the cycle continues. I'm climbing back up, I'm feeling better, I'm making phone calls. This time I was down eight days. I find overall my good days do outnumber the bad. I guess life for me is like riding out a storm, once the rain stops and the wind slows, I get my bearings, I no longer walk against the wind, and that always lasts longer than the storms.

Once again a layover

I had a layover in reality recently. The realities of bipolar-II. I was very depressed for a few weeks, all I wanted to do was sleep, and that I did. For weeks, I stayed up until 5 am, then slept all day. I was not interested in getting on the computer, blogging, journaling or ebay shopping. My friend finally said he was tired of trying to pull me up. He is a good friend, he was not being cruel.

At the time it felt like cruelty because I wasn't ready to resume life. It really scared me, thinking he would leave me behind in the new millennium. But he said the magic words "you are acting like a victim" and it all seemed clear. Was I depressed or feeling sorry for myself, and is there a difference to the outside world?
There is no one who understands depression like those who suffer from it. It always looks like I'm feeling sorry for myself, when I just don't care, I'm not interested, or I'm just so sad I don't want to be poked.
I know everybody gets depressed, but having straight up depression is a beast amongst itself. To all of you who have a friend or relative who suffers from clinical depression, please remember we are not just acting like victims, we can't just snap out of it, and it looks ugly and without strength. It just hurts.
When I'm in depressed mode I feel physically sick as well. Not flu sick, just a brown cloud that hangs about eye level. I can't see through it, around it or under it. I forget there is anything else. I remember feeling well and don't know how to get back, or if I ever will get back. It's dark there. The sentence is not qualified in time. And I've been there for a year at a time. The meds that are my lifeline sometimes stop being effective. It took me 10 years to get the right diagnosis and medication. That fear will never go away. Being back there, I don't know how you spend the time in that jail cell.
This brings me to another point. I want my blog to reflect truth and reality for my disability. Up to this point I have tried to be funny and cute, but I'm making it real from now on. Maybe it will look funny, like I'm bitching or like I'm living a sloppy life. Life is gritty, and I want to capture that. That is my goal.

Photo by Randy Boyd