It’s barely 10am, and I can sense that today is going to be a productive day.
My weeks usually struggle to find a balance between the Good days and the Bad days.
The Bad days usually commence in extreme drowsiness from the moment of early morning wakefulness (if, you can even call it as such). This usually is followed by one or two hours of fumbling around in a daze whilst the Quetiapine is still in my system, making breakfast for the little one and switching on the television to entertain her whilst her Mother is still pending. It is followed by me binge eating on any sugary items whose paths I happen to stumble across, desperately fuelling my body for the energy it needs. Whether I shower or not depends on if the caffiene buzz decides to spark off a hint of motivation. The rest of the day is usually a blur, with the constant fight between my rational concience telling me that there is housework to do, bills to pay and the likes, and my emotional mind talking myself in to a cheeky afternoon nap. The bad days usually dominate around 80% of my week.
The Good days are more infrequent, they ususally count for a singular episode (usually later on in the week). At best I get two days during the week, but even that is at a push. Good days begin with me opening my eyes up to the world, and actually seeing it.The sensation of the cotton against my skin with my duvet wrapped around me stirs my awareness. Colours pop out like they should. My brain hears and registers the words exhaled out of my daughters mouth. The world is three-dimentional again. Coffee becomes a sweet warm gift to myself, rather than a neccesity. Not only do I carry on with my day fluently and get things done; things are easy.Life is easy.
I do believe I have developed from blind-sidedly taking these Good days for granted; not feeling the wrath of dissapointment as much when I wake up the next morning with the heavy thud of the day ahead. Things always feel significantly worse when compared to their antagonistic counterpart.These days I know to embrace the Good days like a short series of treasured moments, be as productive as I can and just be. I now expect the Bad days. The Good days however, are God’s offering when he feels like I need the much needed break, and I am not to waste them or expect them any more.
I suppose I am lucky in a way. I am blessed with these little snippets of moments of what it really feels to be living. I welcome the day in, embrace the sounds and the smells of life. Acknowlege the sense of the beauty in nature that surrounds me. Look up to the serene pool of blue sky and step outside of my emotionally charged, but insignificant shell of a body. Detatch and weighlessly drift away from my pain, my disorder, and become one with the world.Blend in with life, and space, and time.
I step back in to my body. Would I have known how vast the world is and how impenetrably simple life can be if I wasn’t the way I am? Or would I have just carried on with my days, my weeks, my years, walking by unacknowledging the extraordinary wonders that besiege me?
I suspect the latter.
What a terrifying thought.