Autumn seems to have arrived. Mixed feeling about that. For some reason it makes me think of my home town, which makes me all warm inside. Secondly, it’s a time of change, and a chance to shed the old, which I love. It does however also mean that summer is coming to an end and winter will soon arrive which, to be blunt, sucks because 6 months of winter is kind of a drag. But until then I’ve got lovely autumn clothes to wear, a hubby to cozy up with, and (especially as my temp job is coming to an end in a month), a new period of my life to look forward to.
If you’ve ever been heart broken, you know how it feels to be depressed, except in the case depression, it’s just there. It’s my own head that’s causing the heart break, not really giving me a chance to get some space, or get some temporary distractions with other brains.
Well… I guess I’m getting a temporary distraction when I get manic (if that is what it is), but that’s just like getting a passionate one night stand with that guy one’s had a crush on in forever, filled with false hopes, only to wake up alone the next day.
At least bad taste in men and bad relationships is a (admittedly difficult) habit that one can work on. How does one deal with this ever ending cycle when it’s not a bad habit, but ones hard wiring?
Crazy thing is I’d rather have a feeling of perpetual heart break rather than getting a night of passion filled with false hopes. I managed years of just being having some kind of lighter depression with bouts of heavier periods. At least it was constant. Living with no hope was better than this. Everything has to be better than this.
So tired and I guess it doesn’t help that I’ve messed up my sleeping habits and am super tired as a result of that as well.
I guess I’m doing what so many say after a heart break; “never again! I’d rather be single!”.
I’m starting to think that I talk to much. Well, actually, I already knew that, and made an effort to correct that, but it seems I’ve forgotten that little piece of knowledge. Or rather, I have to get better at not having to try to dive into a conversation with everyone that comments on my blog or twitter. I do this because I’m curious and I love discussing and analysing everything together with someone else, because I feel that that’s the best way to learn and understand, but I’m starting to think that people just get bored or feel like the discussion is going around in circles. I dunno how to find a balance here…
I’m bored of the turn this blog has taken. It’s become an open diary rather than an honest reflection of what’s it’s like to be bipolar. I need to step back and figure out how to move forward before I write more. Maybe I should do something like my hubby; have specific subjects for specific days. Another idea is to have specific days for sitting down and doing a little writing on the book, which might in turn effect what I wrote here. Or maybe a mix of both.
Planning has for as long as I can remember been a very big part of my being in the past. As a kid I found summer vacations so boring that I would sit and plan how I was going to spend my days when school started again. It would become something like
7.00 wake up
7.45 get dressed
If there was one thing I loved about boarding school, it was the routines they’d set up for us. Maybe a reaction to my very free-thinking parents who never punished me and never made me do anything. They never just left me to fend for myself, always made sure I was going ok, and did their best to be there for me when I wanted to talk (I knew when to take my chances as well; when my mum was taking a bath, and when my dad was driving), but I had a lot of freedom, which ironically (hope I’m using that word right now), made me structure my days even more.
Growing my need for structure showed itself in lists. My husband would tease me and say I’d make lists about making lists. When I have too much freedom I make lists so I don’t get passive, and when I have a lot of things I find interesting going on, I schedule.
Probably a good quality to have as a bipolar person.
Since getting the job though, my lists and schedules are basically non-existent. I send myself an e-mail sometimes when I realise there’s something I really shouldn’t forget so each time I go through my personal inbox (about 2x/week) I get reminded.
But now, because there’s a lot of things I want to do again, it may be time I start making a list again so that I can schedule it all out.
As I’ve me filmed before in the blog, I (we) haven’t owned a tv for some years now (not sure how many, but I’m guessing it’s some three years or so), and it’s without a doubt one of the better choices that we’ve ever made. In my case I’d come to the point that I felt like as if all I get did was watch tv (did a test online to see hos much t. I watched, and it was way too much to say the least) and realising that if I’m ever going to stop watching it, I’d have to go cold turkey (yes, the damned tv was a drug). After a trip in London, where there was no access to tv my husband thought it would be a good idea as well and we jumped at the opening that meant we both agreed (a feat by itself let me tell you!), and chucked the tv into the storage room (in case we decided that we would miss it too much).
The most immediate thing we noticed was that we all of a sudden had the flexibility of rearranging our furniture however we wanted, instead of around that damned tv. I think we’ve rearranged the furniture about once a year (at least) after that, making it a bit of a joke among our friends that they’re half expecting the apartment to look a little different each time they come. I loved the freedom of it!
There were of course some other effects as well. As I mentioned, watching tv had become a drug to me. More so in fact, than smoking. It was my pacifier, and it couldn’t be more obvious than when I realised that I was getting irritative and moody because I had no idea how to relax without it. All of a sudden I needed to use my brain (reading), or actually make an effort (finding a hobbie) and I didn’t know how to deal. Pretty bad. I got so restless I signed myself up for everything I thought might be interesting. Politics, non-profit organisation, personal projects, you name it (at the same time as I was working part time and studying for my bachelor degree by the way). Good thing? I was finally doing something with my life. Bad thing? My manias is what at times kept me going. It was a good thing that I didn’t have a 9-5 job at that time.
Whatever the stages I was going through was however, I never regretted getting rid of that damned tv.
I have to admit though, I never properly went cold turkey though, as I continued watching series online, and watching them at a level that probably wasn’t healthy either. Note the past tense though, because for some reason or other, that pacifier is seemingly getting fazed out as well, and I’m glad, because that was pretty pacifying as well.
For those of you that are a little curious about the “totally crazy” life of life without a tv (a not very uncommon reaction to us not having a tv by the way), read the article on “8 changes I experienced after giving up tv”. I don’t agree with no 7, but considering how similar the rest of the experiences are to my own, I think that maybe it’s time for society to rethink how we spend our days.
For about 2 years now, B and I have written a New Years letter that we send out to friends and family that we have an e-mail address to (which, since Facebook became the way to communicate, isn’t as many as I wish it was). While many have chosen to to use the New Years letter to reflect of the past year however, B and I chose to focus a little more on the coming year, as a way of looking forward, rather than looking back. After moving to this apartment however, I’ve noticed a major strength in writing the New Years letter the way we do; it makes our hopes for the coming year more tangible, more definite. Without meaning to, I’ve noticed how we for the last years have been checking things off of our New Years letter as the year goes by. Pretty cool how that works.
You can tell that I’m an only child because no matter how much I love my hubby and love to be with him, I value the time I have alone when he’s gone, which is the case today. He’s off to Copenhagen with some friends/colleagues until tomorrow and I’m stuck at home… and I love it!
My love for space and time alone, has been a part of me for as long as I can remember and, if my mother is to be believed, even earlier. I remember her telling me how I was as a little 5-year old, living with my parents in a gated community in Vietnam. Apparently I would disappear for a little over an hour during the evenings every now and then and my mom would have no clue what I was up to during that time. She just knew that I leave home and return after an hour. Living in a gated community she never seemed to worry, but she got curious as to what a 5-year old could be up to during that hour. So one time she followed me, and got more than a little surprised when she realised that I went to the nearby pool area and just sat there enjoying the peace and quite, in silence, for about 45 minutes, before heading back home.
The need to just have some space to just be, may not have changed very much as I got older, but I get a little surprised at how much everything else has. Especially in the past few years since meeting B. I used to be that emo kid, a wanna-be goth, and with (according to B) dark rings under my eyes, and a lot of anger and sadness behind them. I didn’t really have any interests and I watched tv all day. My idea of food was a meal a day consisting of frozen meatballs chucked in the microwave with some ketchup (or something else that worked with just ketchup, melted cheese or, if I was feeling fancy, some pasta) and a pack of cigarettes. Wind forward a few years and you instead have someone who’s wardrobe has all the colours of the rainbow, has no dark rings under her eyes, eats breakfast lunch and dinner (even has freshly pressed carrot juice for breakfast!), quit drinking and smoking, has signed up for a one-mile run through town, and hasn’t owned a tv for over 3 years.
To be honest, I think I’ve wanted some kind of change for so long, which is probably why I kept changing friends, saw each move as a new beginning (which I guess I still do), and dated a completely kind of guy with each “round”. B, I think, was the same. I shouldn’t, of course, speak for him, but I think that he was instead that good solid guy that people liked, behaved the right way, and did his best to fit in. Basically the opposite of me in all aspects other than also wanting change, looking for something better, and be a better version of what he was. From the start we complimented each other and became intertwined with each other as a result us constantly helping the other be a better version of ourselves and strive to be everything we can be. I’ve already written my “love letter” to my parents. This, I guess, is my love letter to my hubby.
Apparently the story my mum told me (or the way I remembered it) was a little faulty as I moved from Vietnam at 4. As such, I’m not sure which part of the story is true or not, or which country I was in if it is. Oh well, it would’ve made sense if it had been true, considering my state of being since.