Buddhism – an anchor in the midst of depression.

 

Lo and behold, I found myself there again.

It was in between those drifting days in the space within Christmas and New Year, that bizarre time of the year when time slows down yet everything speeds up and the meaning to life is yet to be caught up with. Except my meaning, which had gone AWOL again, and had been in a place somewhere other than where it should have been for quite a few months.

It all started somewhere in between my car breaking down and a family member dying; I never had the strength to trace back and pin point exactly when. 2018 was hours away, a new year, new start! But my energies were lying in every single negative incident that made up 2017, every single one, which i’m sure there was something in the fine print that these major mess up moves were supposed to be spread out during the course of ones lifetime not in a single year, I wouldn’t have signed up for it otherwise, surely?

Anyway, the new year was set to be a write off. And then my mind made a flip move on to one that most people with bipolar or some other severe mental health issues do one in their lives; I started practicing Buddhism.

The past few months have been a blur, yet a positive enriched blur. I have followed closely the words of the Dharma, engaged in mindfulness and meditation, a whole lot of books, even more podcasts, taken up the precepts and signed up to my second Buddhist course of the year and attended classes where a lot of tears and a lot of hugs were exchanged (and only two months have passed). My perception on life as it was has pointed itself in the opposite direction. And what a life saver it has all been. I am 10 week medication free for the first time in four years (though I am not so immune and past it all to believe I won’t need them again somewhere down the line!).

To sum up the year so far, I am okay (even though I am still walking through a wreckage of a life that is not yet okay).

For anyone interested, I have listed below my recommendations for some beginners reading in to buddhism. Happy reading 🙂

 

Buddhist Bootcamp – Timber Hawkeye 

Buddhism for Busy people – David Michie

Teachings of the Buddha – Jack Kornfield

Buddhism for beginners – Jack Kornfield

When things fall apart – Pema Chödrön

   Buddhism is not what you think – Steve Hagen 

 

 

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‘Sharing Stories’ – The use of medical marijuana in Marfan Syndrome, by Tony.

 

“I am a 27 year old man, I have depression and suffer greatly from chronic pain. Over the past couple of months my health has deteriorated massively, I can no longer walk far or for long, my arms and legs ache daily and suffer from shooting and stabbing pains in my back (from scoliosis) and the unrelenting urge to have to use the bathroom to satisfy my Irritable Bowel Syndrome.

I am a Teacher; my work is very physically demanding and that is without the mental demand needed to provide quality teaching sessions.

It is now Wednesday and I have not been able to make it into work this week. My Doctors took me off all my pain, my anti-inflammatory and my depression medication and this week so far has been sheer hell – the feeling of being trapped by the limits of your own body is terrifying.

What would you think of me if I told you I smoked medical marijuana? Would you think I was unsuitable to teach your children? Would you demand I lost my position as a teacher because of the misconception of an ancient medicine?

My first encounter with cannabis was a positive one. I was around 17 years old at a house party and some friends of a friend were smoking weed. I had always thought of drugs (especially from what i’ve seen in the media) as something to stay away from. The night I tried cannabis for the first time was a long time before my pain progressed, but little did I know that that night I was medicating myself; I felt happy, the worries melted away and I felt confident. That night I kissed a girl I had my eye on for a while (it was also her house party)… needless to say my first experience was a positive one.

It’s hard to say how much smoking cannabis is improving my quality of life right now. Off the pain meds – the pharmaceutical drugs – I find myself more at peace with this chronic stabbing pain I feel as I write this. My muscles are less tense, my mind is clearer, I can walk small distances without being in a great deal of pain. It seems to be the only thing thats helping my life at the moment after countless trips to the GP.

I have Marfan Syndrome, a degenerative tissue disorder.

It affects my eyes, spine, heart, skeletal system and all the connective tissue that supports it. My body is constantly in pain – it’s horrible. This illegal medicine is helping me and not getting me high, it helps me to function a relatively normal life with pain, but it’s not available at your GP . It is not available to all the people/children in the UK suffering from one of the many syndromes and diseases that cannabis has proven to benefit; it makes me angry and so sad for the people and children and families that aren’t ‘allowed’ by law to ease their own suffering with a plant – like I said, I used to be against drugs – but let’s talk about drugs, alcohol and tobacco killing *thousands of UK residents every year, comparative of the total number of deaths world wide from smoking cannabis, which is unheard of.

This drug is helping me but I have to keep it secret, the one thing thats helping me and I can’t talk about it for fear of losing my job, my life. It looks like my health is deciding my choices for me these days, how can I deny something that’s helping me? I think you can see at the moment that I don’t have a choice; I’m forced to obtain this medicine from people who grow it. It is not regulated/ tested/ there are no set perimeters that qualifies the usual street skunk as medicinal. I’ve watched documentaries in Colorado where weed has been legalised for medicinal use and I’ve seen dispensaries full of medicine, people treating their many ailments with cannabis, as we did thousands of years ago. These people are getting better, and it gives me hope for the future, when the government puts people before big companies, then we will finally see change. When anybody can grow a plant in their home without fear of prosecution, people may finally be able to take back control over their own lives.

I know that would put my mind and body at ease.

I am a Teacher, a Brother, a Son, a Best friend, I am in pain, I am depressed, I need help. But when nobody can help you, sometimes you need to help yourself and I will never feel selfish again for doing something that positively increases my quality of life.

I’m 27, I have Marfan syndrome, chronic pain, joint dislocation, plantar fascitis and a heart condition; I smoke cannabis everyday. It helps me relax and stop worrying about what the future holds for me.

It takes the edge off the pain, for me that means everything.

It makes me feel a little bit more like how I used to be before this condition starting ripping my life apart.”

 

– By Tony.

 

*In 2014, there were 8,697 alcohol-related deaths registered in the UK, an age-standardised rate of 14.3 deaths per 100,000 population.

* Reports from this year also showed that there were 3,346 registered deaths in England and Wales related to misuse of commonly abused drugs. – ONS, Office for National Statistics (2014).  

 

 

Do you have a mental health/recovery story of your own that you’d like to reach out and share to others? Whether it be overcoming depression to addiction to eating disorders… no matter what your area, there will be a chance that your experience will touch someone else’s life.

Send your story with your name and location to themanicyears@gmail.com, and i’d be happy to publish on The Manic Years.

 

The Interval – a glimmer of stability in a mad, mad world.

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Life is stable.

 

As stable as it could possibly be in my situation anyway. I’m back on my old medication; a very low dose of Quetiapine, mixed in with an anti-depressant for the fun of it, and things have settled pretty well.

I have been discharged from the care of my Psychiatrist and back to my GP. I have been taking my medication as early as possible, to induce the right 8 hours a night’s sleep in me, swapped partying for meditation and writing, and I have been plodding along with life just fine.

I have been through the up’s and downs and the in’s and out’s of Bipolar for quite some years now, and I am learning to appreciate the times when I do find myself drifting on calm waters; because I have spent 95% of my life fighting the struggle for it.

The peace has given me a lot of time to reflect, and concentrate on other things – looking after my daughter – rather than trying to look after myself – building strength in my relationships, and thinking about the next steps I can take to prepare myself for a career leap. It’s been enjoyable, this quiet interval in my life, and one that I know would be wasteful of me if I wasn’t to use this time to focus on bettering myself and my surrounding environment. To an outsider, it doesn’t seem like such a praise to make, to just get on with my days.

But for people like us, it a destination we have taken a long, long road to get to.

It’s a hell of a journey when only a few months ago you found yourself forcing yourself out of bed in the morning, braving work un-showered and barefaced, with barely your hair touched with a brush. When you found yourself locked in the toilets on your lunch break with your tear-stained jumper over your face, suffocating the sobs that burst out of your chest after one of your hourly panic attacks. When you found yourself in that unbearable training session, stuttering at the most simplest conversations between you and the colleague sitting next door, because your mind has been taken over by the incomprehensible fear that is named these days as ‘social anxiety.’ When you found yourself questioning why and what stripped you of your confidence and started gnawing away at your former self – leaving nothing but shattered pieces of You that can’t seem to be put back together again.

But today, I am whole. I am me, and I am going to use myself for all my glorious ways, my kind smiles, my laughs, my childish dances in the moonlight. I am going to make the best of all those whom I love around me, pray for them and sing along with them and make those memories I can store away for one of those inevitable rainy days.

Because they will come, the rainy days. They will knock the wind out of my lungs and have me down on my knees begging for release from this life.

 

But today, I am whole.

“Sharing stories” – A tribute to those suffering from Schizophrenia, by Jeremi.

 

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A tribute to those suffering from schizophrenia:

I wake up in darkness
I feel the eyes looking at me
Others say ignorance is bliss
But they can’t see!
I strap on my knife
They are out to get me
This blade will save my life
Take a toll or three

I argue with my thoughts
Why do I refuse to listen?
Why can’t I see thought’s roots?
Tormented by thoughts of poison
I predict their steps
Wish I knew how I do
They can’t explain this
Nobody has this ability too

My solace doesn’t solve
I feel so tired of the chaos
I plead myself for escape
My skin on myself feels gross

A taste in my mouth lingers
A tap on my shoulder from someone absent
The air entwining my fingers
Death’s sweet scent

You better run, my blade is thirsty

I saw you, you want to get me
I will take you with me!

Then she stops my arm
Looks at me with loving sadness
“You need help I assume”
Her soothing words all bliss

They gave me pills
My world changed
No more of it’s chills
I never knew that I was derranged

I lived with madness so long that I never knew what life truly is… I never saw my own fatal flaw

– By Jeremi.

Stories are still needed!

Do you have a mental health/recovery story of your own that you’d like to reach out and share to others? Whether it be overcoming depression to addiction to eating disorders… no matter what your area, there will be a chance that your experience will touch someone elses life.

Send your story with your name to themanicyears@gmail.com and i’d be happy to publish on The Manic Years.

Sharing saves lives –

M x

‘Sharing Stories’ -Hypomania in Bipolar disorder, by Samantha Pottinger

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“When I went to my GP I described my behaviour and feelings. I was expecting to be diagnosed with Bipolar disorder, given that I’d gone from one extreme to the other in such a short space of time. The best way I could describe it was like the feeling of an overexcited child at Christmas.  My favorite foods and drinks tasted amazing, music sounded better, I would be overwhelmed by the beauty of scenery, my nephews and niece looked cuter, colours would look more distinct. I would get fits of the giggles and struggle not to burst out laughing whilst walking down the street. My mind would be racing and instead of having no business ideas I had so many I couldn’t switch off.

Hypomania does not mean that one feels happy all the time, it’s more like an obsession with engaging in hedonistic activities and an intolerance of displeasure. It can result in serious irritability and impatience. Although being overwhelmed by positive emotion is certainly more pleasant than being overwhelmed by negativity, it’s still uncomfortable. In a hypomanic episode I feel overstimulated and overexcited about everything, I really resent my job for taking up my time up and stopping me from doing the things I enjoy (whereas in a depressive episode my job is one of the few things keeping me going).  At work I get over excited by all the interesting books I see and take out several but then I don’t read them because I’m too restless and can’t sit still. I can’t watch films either because I have too much energy. I end up spending too much money because I get overexcited about everything I see and then end up getting frustrated for having to wait so long for the next pay day.  I have lots of pent up energy and get really frustrated if I can’t release it. I can even remember being jealous of people saying they were tired!

Although hypomania has its disadvantages, it can be quite a pleasant feeling. I think my hypomanic episodes are the reason I’ve never had any interest whatsoever in taking illegal drugs, I see my ability to feel high naturally as a blessing. I become more creative and my brain is a lot sharper and I’m sure my hypomanic phases helped give me the energy to fit my studying in with work and are responsible for some of my good marks.

Depressive episodes are certainly unpleasant but for me, the fact that I went for the therapy meant that I’m left with useful mind tools for when I see it recurring and I can empathize with and help others.

My doctor mentioned (but didn’t diagnose me with) a milder form of Bipolar disorder called Cyclothymia. Some people find labels helpful, others don’t. Personally, I feel that we are all prone to fluctuations in mood as we go through ups and downs and transitions in life, (who feels ‘neutral’ all the time?) I think that being a HSP or ’empath’ as I’ve talked about in my blog just means they are a bit more pronounced in me.  It can make life a bit more challenging to deal with but as you become more self-aware, you can learn to manage better and stop your condition from over-ruling your life.

If you have or think you might have a diagnosable mental health condition, don’t be afraid to seek support from your GP, mental health organizations or read some mental health blogs. But remember there is nothing wrong with or ‘freaky’ about you and having a mental health condition does not make you not inferior.

You are not alone.”

-By Samantha Pottinger.

 

Samantha incorporates her experiences with mental health and bipolar disorder in to her health blog Samantha the Sane Vegan.

 

Do you have a mental health/recovery story of your own that you’d like to reach out and share to others? Get involved! Whether it be overcoming depression to addiction to eating disorders… no matter what your area, there will be a chance that your experience will touch someone else’s life.

Send your story with your name and location to themanicyears@gmail.com, and i’d be happy to publish on The Manic Years.

Sharing saves lives.

M x

 

 

 

 

“Sharing Stories” – Bipolar; The rollercoaster I didn’t pay to get on, By Allison Padgett

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“You’re crazy! You’re a bitch! You’re a mess! I wish you’d just get your shit together! Why can’t you be normal? Just get out of bed! It’s like you’re two different people! It’s all in your head! You’re just lazy! Good for nothing! Worthless! Pathetic!

These are just a few of the things I’ve heard over the years in my struggle with my mental health. Some of these things have been said by friends. Some of these things have been said by loved ones. And some of these things I’ve said to myself.

Have you ever had a bad day? I mean, a really bad day. You wake up late. Forget the most important thing that you needed for work at home, but you’re already late, so you have to make up and excuse not only about your lateness, but about your not bringing that important thing. Your boss calls you in the office to “discuss” your performance or lack there of. You then begin to cry, but it’s only eleven AM, so you have to keep working and act like someone didn’t just make you feel like an idiot, when you know you’re not. Then, you start doubting yourself and start believing what was said. Next, no one asks you to join them for lunch because you look like you’re having one of your “days”. You try to work, but the thoughts play in your head like a CD stuck on repeat. You accomplish nothing, but more failure and your closest coworker gets mad at you for not holding up your end of the bargain. You try to tell them that you’re sorry. You try to tell them that you’ll do better, but they don’t believe you and you start not to believe yourself either. Finally, you go home only to think more about being worthless and wishing you could just die. You think that you’re probably just a burden on everyone and should just quit. Quit your job and life, itself. You’re hungry. No, you’re not hungry enough to fix anything, so you sit in silence and try to go to sleep early. Ha! The Sandman laughs in your face. Sleep doesn’t come because you continue to listen to that CD. Over and over. You believe it. You know you’re just a pathetic human being. Then you finally fall asleep miraculously, only to be awoken by a nightmare that you’re being thrown in a dumpster filled with other people “just like you”. Then, much to your dismay, your alarm goes off and it’s time to start the struggle of life for one more day.

Sounds like hell, doesn’t it? It sounds unreal.

It was a day in my life. On my “down” days, I felt like this. Sometimes even worse. So your worst day, is a day in the life of someone with bipolar disorder when they cycle down. Oh sure, I cycle up, too. Here’s what that feels like…

You are woken up by your alarm and today, you don’t feel like throwing it across the room. Could it be? You’re not sure yet. You get ready for work and today you feel like listening to the radio. What? You get to work and say hello to everyone you see. Good Morning, everybody!! You start your workday and do your work without interruptions of doubt. All of the sudden, while chatting with your favorite coworker you both realize that it’s almost time to go home. Already? Awesome! You drive home, windows down, singing your favorite song and thinking that sunlight is pretty great. When you get home, you cook your favorite meal and enjoy it in front of the TV, watching your favorite rerun of Friends. (The Prom Video, obviously) Then you take a nice warm bath, look in the mirror one last time and smile. Today was your day! Today was an amazing day! You pick up that novel you’ve been meaning to read and then fall asleep easily, without the constant feeling of worthlessness.

Sounds like a pretty good day, right? Sounds like what most people would call a normal day. For me, these days are precious. They are coveted. I yearn for these days. I beg for these days and when they come they’re gone too soon.

I haven’t always been bipolar. I’ve been to so many doctors, psychologists and psychiatrists. I’ve been told I’m depressed. I have anxiety disorder. I’m just hormonal. I need to exercise more. I should just eat better. I have toxic people in my life and if I rid myself of them, then I’ll be fine. Fine, they said. But, fine never came. Fine felt a million miles away.

So, I started doing research. I listened to some of those closest to me. One ex said I acted like two different people. He named them “Allison and Callison”. It took 10 years before I knew what that meant. I’m not two different people, but my brain just might be. So, I called an emergency mental health hotline. No, I wasn’t having a true mental health emergency, but I needed someone to listen to this epiphany. I needed someone to listen. I needed some one to listen to ME. Not judge me. Not try to over analyze me. And not throw the latest pill at me and tell me it’s been a miracle for other patients. So, he listened while I explained what I knew in my heart was finally right. I think I’m bipolar, I said. I had actually said it. Bipolar.

The next step was making an appointment with yet another psychologist. But this time was different. I had an idea of what to say. I’d never been completely open with any provider before, but this time I was. I explained my lifelong battle with my brain. And she listened. She gave me a test. It wasn’t long. I had to answer about twenty questions. I answered all, but a select few, with a resounding YES. I didn’t know what the test was for, but I knew whatever it was, it understood me. The results? Bipolar Type 2, with hypo-mania. YES!! I knew it. But, wait. What the hell do I do now? Another pill? No. That’s not why I came. Pills don’t work for me. I should know. I’d been on every single one. But, she was adamant that this pill was for bipolar disorder. This pill was “right” for me. I gave in. I went to the pharmacy and filled it.

Then, I waited. They always say to wait two to three weeks before you give up.

I waited three days. Yes, three days. On day four I woke up different. Good different. Something felt good. Not high, good. But, I just felt good. What? No self loathing this morning? No hatred of all things morning? Ok. That’s great. Now, I’ll need to go on and get up. I have things to do. I got up. I showered and dressed and then I had an errand to run. I hopped in my car and immediately turned on the radio. I rolled the windows down and began driving. About three miles down the road I came to a stoplight. One of those looong stoplights that if you don’t hit at just the right time, you’ll sit forever. So, I sat. I looked around at all of the other people in their cars. Some just sitting. Some on the phone. And some smiling at me. Why were they smiling, I thought. Oh, shit! I’m smiling, too. Then, it hit me! I’m happy. And I began to cry. I cried because I was happy. I cried because I felt what most people call normal. And right there at that stoplight, I knew my struggle had just gotten a little easier. So, I cried some more. I cried for the years I’d missed not feeling this way. Then, I stopped crying. I stopped because I wanted too. I stopped because I could.

So, what now? I had a diagnosis and a medication that managed it. I felt like someone or something had given me back my life. No, wait. I felt like someone or something had finally given me life.

And, so goes the beginning of my life with bipolar disorder. Is it always as easy as it was that fourth day? No. Is it ever as bad as my worst day? No. I still cycle up and down. Just not as frequently and not as high or as low. I’ve had to add some medications and I’ve taken a few away, but right now I’m managed. I still deal with the stigma. How many times have I heard someone laugh at someone else’s expense and joke that they must be bipolar? A lot. I just kind of look down and smile to myself. They don’t know what they’re saying. They don’t know what it’s like. They don’t know that every single day is a battle. But, they also don’t know that I’m finally winning.”

– By Allison Padgett

Thank you to Allison for submitting her story. To read more of Allison’s journey upon Bipolar, homeschooling and living with her Husband’s Brain tumour diagnosis, please support her blog at https://immamabutimstillme.wordpress.com

 

WE NEED YOUR STORIES….

– Please drop me an email on themanicyears@gmail.com if you want to take part and be featured in “Sharing Stories”, if you have a story to tell or you just want to share your thoughts about your experiences with mental health. I am so proud of everyone who has contributed and who has joined me in this journey so far, and I do hope our army gets stronger. A bigger voice. A fight to speak louder. – M

 

 

Sharing Stories is now on facebook!

The Manic Years “Sharing Stories” feature now has it’s own facebook page!

Please like, share and support the feature if you can to raise awareness; The Manic Years – Sharing Stories of Menatl HealthThe Manic Years – Sharing Stories of Mental Health

So far, the stories have inspired people, reached out to many and succeeded on expressing a multitude of turmoil that is so hard to put in to words for sufferers who experiences mental health difficulties.

It is so valuable to others who are lost that those who have experienced mental disorders speak out about our feelings and our realities. Sharing not only makes it okay, makes people feel like they aren’t alone, but it also gives people something to relate to. It is the key to understanding when we are suffering. Speaking up, and speaking louder can save lives.

The ‘Sharing Stories’ feature will continue to do that, and I have many hopes that each and every one of your experiences will connect to someone, somewhere in the world and give them not just the knowledge they need for understanding what they are going through, but also the comfort they need to carry on and the confidence to speak out themselves.

Please drop me an email on themanicyears@gmail.com if you want to take part and be featured on the blog, if you have a story to tell or you just want to share your thoughts about your experiences. They matter, so much. I am so proud of everyone who has contributed and who has joined me in this journey so far, and I do hope our army gets stronger. A bigger voice. A fight to speak louder.

The Good day.

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.

Peace.

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.

 

Needs.

I am totally going to contradict my last post ‘Lonely Hours’ I made in December now..

I do believe i’m slowly going insane with loneliness. Not just that but a fear that I am wasting my twenties away is creeping in.

I turn 26 this month. 26 years old on Valentine’s Day to be precise.

I have always loved birthdays. Always happy to have celebrated turning that year older and feel the sense of maturity and ‘grown-uppiness’ to give me some additional purpose as I march ahead on this journey called Life. So why all of a sudden am I looking back in regret, rather than looking forward to the unlimited posibilities of the unwritten unknown?

What I see, as my life unbalances and tips over to the other side of the twenties, is that i’m looking back in to an empty space of, well.. not a lot. Excluding having my beautiful daughter when I was 21 of course, and graduating when I was 23 – what have I done to show for it? I can feel a shift in maturity where I have to cautiously plan for the future now – organising my monthly bills and paying them on time, keeping an eye on my credit rating (this all of a sudden seems to be one of the most high priority things on my list at the moment), preparing to save up for a mortgage – even the creeping thought that I need to now be on the look out for expensive eye creams and up the game on my skin care routine as the first few wrinkles are making their appearences. When did the fun 20’s turn in to the serious ‘prep for your 30’s’?

I see the young girl I used to be get replaced by the younger generation of girls, girls who don’t necessarily have to continuously chase a good credit rating, who still live with their parents, have high incomings and minimal outgoings with their biggest daily worries involve which shade of MAC lipstick to commit to in the morning.

I am afraid to say, however it needs to be said, that I am developing regrets of wasting away my youth. Regrets that are telling me that I should have put love second, I should have spent my time chasing money, being more carefree, making more memories and building my empire.

Something needs to change. I’m sick of feeling lonely. Ever since I started working from home (and even though I really need the isolation sometimes) I spend my working time on my own, and my evening’s alone when my daughter goes to bed. The Boy works away, and we don’t live together so my time is occupied two nights a week yes, but for him to arrive after work to mine at 7pm and to just leave the next morning? Well, I can’t even say he’s completely in my life. Officially, I am in a relationship. In reality? I’m in a relationship but trapped in a Single person’s world. With a single person’s mindset. And even though I have that someone special in my life who is caring and thoughful and absolutely adores me, at the end of the day when the sun goes down I am still a lone parent doing it all by myself.

I feel like I still need to reach out and meet new people, make memories and get out there in the world. I can feel a shift in the ground i’m standing on. Like the world around me is screaming to me “Lady, you are NOT done with your twenties yet. Get out there before these regrets are etched in stone.” But at the same time, i’m too scared to. I need a big injection of courage, something to remind me to go and live my life the way I deserve to live it. Something to shock my system in to running after what I really need.

I suppose having an idea of what I need is better than wondering around aimlessly lost. I have been there before many times. At least now im on the right path. It’s just up to me to start walking forward and opening my eyes up to the many pathways I can travel down.

 

“We only regret the chances we didn’t take…”

 

 

Lonely hours.

 

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Following my latest post in September. I originally came on here for one of those ‘New Year, New Start’ posts. Then I sat and envisioned the empty last few months of my life and realised there was some content in it’s passing.

Thus, a generic New Year post in the new year to follow…

 

It’s been an unexpected Winter.

Usually I prepare for the ‘seasonal fall of the Megan’ during the dark months – part partial with the Bipolar Label – when the sun hibernates from the cold it takes away a little of the fuel for mania.

It’s been fine. Absolutely fine would be an overexaggeration, there was a 7 week period of unemployment, the joys of signing on (sigh), no money for food, rent, shuffling bills around, threatening letters and having the God Damn council tax people at my door, but fine nontheless.

By the end of November I made yet another risky decision, after some sound advice from a few friends, and took the bull by the horns so to speak by registering as Self-employed. A great decision later by Team Megan and it not only paid for Christmas but got my life back on track.

So money issues swept off the table, and December breezed through. Meds are stable. Theres been a few bad days (mainly anxiety provoked) but they were tackled as trained, and the following days were held through as normal.

On a scale of 1-10, i’d say the last three months on average were at a 4.5 (with some occasional 6-7’s thrown in. I’m not depressed. I’m not exhuberant with my life. But i’m floating in the middle somewhere (this is very rare for me). The only thing about coming over the Christmas period is that I didn’t realise how isolated i’d become. I’ve hardly spoken to friends. Hardly seen to friends (apart from a few knocking on my door and forcing me out of the house when enough became enough). I have spent the majority of my time since I left my old job flying solo. But what suprises me, is that it’s been a comfortable solo. This is what I have picked up on as I have reflected back on these missing months….

I am NEVER at a steady 5. I have been in the past, but something comes along; a hangover, an argument, a change in meds, a hormone change, a change in weather, life changes, too much sleep, too little sleep, a change in diet, a bad dream, a flat tyre, whatever. Something has always affected my moods and sent me flying to one end of the polars. Not necessarily to the extreme – when I am not UP UP, I am a little up, or when I am not down in the dumps I am generally struggling with my days. I am engaging on little Rollercoasters whilst waiting in the queues for the big Rollercoasters.

I feel like, looking back I have detected that my body is finally not being pulled this way and that and I have hit the pause button on my life. Not meaning to shut people out, or not go out and enjoy myself as a symptom of depression, but enjoy the quiet time on my own…. in a good and healthy way.

I have enjoyed this. Not fighting to get what I want, not going all out to have fun, not working too hard… just being. For now. I will get back to it all when I have finished my casual floating.

For some people, just sailing by isn’t enough. Being at a 5 in their life isn’t enough. For someone like me, right here, right at this moment, being mundane in a sea of nothingness is…

Well it’s heaven.

 

Life is good.