MY BIPOLAR LIFE
I don’t know if my official mental health diagnosis is bipolar II – or not. There appears to be no consensus on anything aside from the fact I have emotional dysregulation and severe insomnia issues. In my opinion, those two things are more than enough to make anybody go crazy. But mental health diagnosis or not, my life is full of highs and lows.
I have been tooting my own horn for seven months now – rabbiting on about how awesome my recovery is coming along. And it’s true – I believe my recovery from not just the eating disorder stuff, but depression, anxiety, self-harm and suicidal ideation is trotting along very nicely. Much more nicely than I would ever in my life have anticipated. Especially at the start of this year. Trotting along nicely is not the same as perfect and I have definitely had ups and downs and relapses, but as I keep repeating to myself, the trajectory is consistently upward. Which is a pleasing thing to report.
BUT LIFE IS NEVER SMOOTH SAILING
My life is no easier, messier or more complicated than anybody else’s life. We all have shit going on, but when the shit is happening to you, it somehow feels shittier.
My dad is old – which is not surprising when you consider I’m not young. But regardless, it’s not easy watching the life slowly seep away from the people we love. Over the last month, I saw my father suffering – very badly. It was a miserable thing to see and to wake every morning wondering if today was the day the phone call would come. But with much hard work from the medical fraternity and much praying from the spiritual community, he pulled through and looks a million dollars. I never believed such a change was possible in such a short period of time. It reinforces my newly acquired faith in miracles. Whatever time he has left, it will hopefully now be spent at home, without suffering. Nobody should ever have to suffer.
THEN THERE’S MY FEET
This seems like such a trivial thing to whine about, but I’m going to do it anyway. I love bushwalking. I really do. It’s such a wonderful mental wellness activity for me. It’s a healthy way to exercise without getting obsessive. It’s all fresh air and fun and friendship. I love it. Then I broke my leg and since then I’ve had nothing but trouble with my feet. I have reactive Achilles tendinopathy that has been non-responsive to physiotherapy. I know there are big problems in the world, but this is a big problem in my world. I’m seeing a specialist in the hope of finding a magic concoction of steroids and anti-inflammatories to return my feet to some semblance of normality. In the meantime, I’ve had to cancel – again – a multi-night walk I was really looking forward to, and all my usual physical activity has been halved. I still strength train at the gym but I can’t walk regularly so I sit on my arse all day instead. It’s very depressing and not conducive to good mental health.
On the upside, the first round of steroids made a huge difference and I was able to start walking again – until the steroids stopped. So I’m cautiously optimistic there is hope for the future of my feet. Watch this space.
AND NOW THERE’S MY CAT
Poor Coco. My beautiful chocolate brown Burmese friend. He has been a faithful and loving companion for 14 years and I hope we have another 14 years together. Or at least four… But on Friday Coco fell asleep in the shade of the carport and being a dark brown cat he was not visible as my husband reversed the car in. And he got run over. Luckily my husband was reversing slowly so Coco is still with us but has a fractured jaw. We’ve had him home for the weekend awaiting surgery tomorrow morning. Feeding him cat “soup” through a syringe in the side of his mouth has been somewhat distressing. Not to mention messy. He smells like soggy cat food. He has a fentanyl patch taped to his back paw so he has no pain and his eyes are like dinner plates. He’s completely off his tree.
When we got to the vet on Friday and I saw the full extent of his broken and bleeding jaw I was so distressed. And so afraid he had a crushed skull as well. Thankfully the x-rays have – so far – shown no other injuries. Since Friday however, my recovery has taken a tumble. I feel like I’m chasing my tail trying to emotionally stay on top of everything without trying to numb the shit out of myself. I’d very much like to have my own fentanyl patch and dinner plate eyes.
BUT ALAS, I HAVE TO FEEL THESE SHITTY EMOTIONS
I ate chocolate instead. It was delicious. Then halfway through today, I realised it was our 28th wedding anniversary. It was the first time in 28 years we didn’t realise in advance or plan something. I have anniversary guilt. Due to our current shitty financial situation – made even shittier by the fact we will be paying an arm and a leg for Coco’s jaw – we were unable to do anything interesting or significant to remember our important day together. But when finally I noticed the date we decided it was a good opportunity to go for a drive in the country and visit our favourite chocolate shop. I ate all my chocolate before I got home. I will have chocolate envy later this evening when my husband slowly enjoys his anniversary treat.
So that’s my life in a nutshell at the moment. One day everything feels fantastic and like I can do no wrong. Then the next day it feels like a walking disaster and I’ll never be able to cope. But I have learned I can cope. I don’t have to like the shitty things but I can manage them. Sometimes I manage them with chocolate. Sometimes with a Valium or two. But my days of self-harm feel like long lost history. My days of endless binging and purging, or punitive restriction are gone. I can’t promise what tomorrow might hold – none of us can – but in this topsy-turvy upside down world we live in, I can say this old dog has finally learned a new trick or two.
