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Reaching Up

I’ve been UA because we sold my old computer due to Wi-Fi issues.  I just got another computer, so I’m back.  We also sold my car, which has been harder than I expected because baby has gotten so active, I would like to be able to go places during the day with her.  We’re house-bound and it’s hard on us both.  But I’m working on it!  I abhor searching for cars, especially when I know what I want and can’t find it.  Balls.

So the depression I’ve been feeling reached critical mass and I had no choice but to ask for pharmaceutical aid, which I have now started taking.  I’m back on the same meds I quit taking over two year ago, however I wasn’t so sad, angry, impossible to live with before, so the results have been profound.  I know some of the effect is placebo, but it’s a relief, so I’m being optimistic.  I couldn’t think straight, make decisions or respond to little irritations rationally.  I was a walking time bomb just waiting for someone to set me off.  Now, I react more calmly and have been able to make some firm decisions without feeling unbearable uncertainty and anxiety.  The rage that was beneath the surface looking for a face to smash has been abated.  So here’s to modern science.  Cheers.

While I’ve been trying to recover, I’ve found a few things that may help others in the same boat, whether medicated or not.  One is music.  I’ve been listening to a lot of music with baby P and I can honestly say music can save my mortal soul.  Especially really good music that somehow speaks to my heart.  My favorite bands are Elbow, Coldplay and Death Cab for Cutie, so those have been the soul-soothing tunes I’ve embraced lately.  Baby P likes it, too.  Music has always had an affect on me and conjures memories in a way nothing else quite does.  I think of music as a life form I live along side.  Cliche, I know.  I love music and can’t imagine life without a soundtrack.

Another, more tangible, thing I’ve done is promised myself I will make the bed and get dressed everyday.  I could stay in my PJs and in the bed (were it not for a baby) all day, but to make myself feel better and have that small victory each day, I get out of bed, make it, I do my exercise and I get dressed.  To me, not getting dressed and never making the bed are akin to giving up, giving in to the bipolar.  Oh, I might not have mentioned my actual diagnosis is bipolar II, aka, rapid cycling bipolar marked by greater swings downward than upward.  In other words, I have manic episodes, but they are not as severe as bipolar I (traditional) and depression is the dominant state of affairs.  So getting my ass in gear each day with a few simple rituals keeps the lows higher and the highs where they should be.

The more cerebral activity is a gratitude journal…lame as it sounds to me and everyone except Pinterest trolls, I suppose it helps to say, “Hey, I have some stuff to be glad about and here’s a list.”  It’s not easy to even come up with five simple things about which I’m grateful.  I try to give each list a theme, like people, objects, a specific person/object, places/spaces, songs, etc…  It hasn’t had a deep, core-shaking effect yet, but I’m still grateful for stuff and I’m still gonna write it down.  Today, for instance, I wrote down why I’m grateful for formula, something I generally hate.  But I have to be grateful because it has given my daughter nourishment when I couldn’t.  So, gratitude.  *happythankyoumoreplease*

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