Okay, I have about 30 minutes to write before I have to jet off to appointments and whatnot. This is the first time I’ve been alone in awhile. I don’t have much in the way of profundity, but I had an awesome morning in the car with the kids. They were blasting Shinedown and we were all singing together, and it time warped me back to when it was just us living in Brookside before I got sick. Things made sense then, and it was probably the happiest I had been. The kids were playing Shinedown almost nonstop back then. I remember writing an angry post using Bully as the anthem, and life was okay. It’s been years since I’ve felt that way. That’s not to say now is bad, but now has me questioning my sanity and reality on an almost constant basis. I live in the shadow of psychosis now. Even taking an anti-psychotic doesn’t alleviate the fear that I will wake up lost again. I keep waiting for a time when I won’t be afraid I’ve lost my mind again, but the best I tend to get is acceptance that I have lost my mind and this is what’s left. And maybe that is recovery. Nobody has told me what recovering from psychosis looks like, except that it takes years. Unfortunately, that has put a timestamp in my head that by x point, I should be y recovered. It’s not like that. It’s more of an ebb and flow. Some days, I feel as though I have some semblance of control of my life and others, I worry I’m heading back to the mental hospital. Call it CBT and radical acceptance, but it just is what it is. I can’t change myself, that’s what I’ve learned. That old adage “pick yourself up by the bootstraps” is utter nonsense. Literally, you can’t do that.
So what can I do? Spirituality taught me to be more present because there’s only depression in the past and anxiety in the future. Right now, I’m not psychotic. Or if I am, I’m blissfully unaware of it, so that’s that. There’s nothing crazier than constantly checking one’s sanity, I think. It’s not insane to have feelings, it’s not insane to feel up and down, and it’s not insane to not be okay. Who is okay right now? I mean, right now, I’m okay, but in the present tense of life, it’s nothing short of fucked. I’ve never seen so much anger and infighting, and I see it in myself too. Everything I’ve just written is nothing truly supportive of me, it’s just me being angry that I’m not a better perception of myself. But that also means I just need to change my perception and I’ll be just fine.
That’s generally what I come back to is that there’s no actual issues, there’s just a perception of issues. A memory of issues. There’s me constantly criticizing me and expecting me to be things I’m not. There’s me constantly fearing I’m ruining my children while simultaneously knowing that whatever issues I create with or for them will be the friction they need to grow. It’s not like anyone lives in a padded life where all the edges are clean. It’s that friction that creates the fire that helps us grow, change, and become. I don’t think it’s just me losing my mind, I suspect a lot of people feel all these heavy burdens. Maybe not my exact verbiage, but I tell myself a lot that if I’m struggling, there’s someone else out there struggling too. It’s never just me. Then I don’t feel so special and unique in all my alphabet soup disorders.
It’s hard to just be, to just allow. Being present is a lost art. It’s good that mental hospitals and the psych industry as a whole are teaching mindfulness and meditation, but our minds get addicted to the learning of the concepts, not the practice. Or at least that’s what I’ve found. I feel great when I think I’m thinking the right things, but really, the thinking is the problem. I live way too much in my head. Then I act surprised when my head creates all kinds of problems because it’s hard to stay content. The only time I find it easy to stay present is when I write because the words come faster than I think them. That says to me I should write more, but then I get to thinking about writing and it’s almost a guarantee I won’t write because I become convinced there’s nothing to write about.
Then, some blessed moments, I remember that everything is actually perfect as is. I’m where I’m supposed to be, the kids are where they’re supposed to be. It wouldn’t be any other way. Breathing reminds me I’m still here, and if I’m still here, there’s a reason. I see the universe as far too powerful to leave me hanging around if I was just utterly fucked. If I can inhale and exhale, then I’m here and I’m living exactly as I’m meant to, it’s just my thoughts thinking otherwise. And how do I even know those thoughts are mine in the first place? I don’t actually think they are; it’s like a form of hypnosis. Smelling my own farts, really.
Well, I gotta get moving, but it was nice brain dumping for a few. How’s everyone doing out there? Anything exciting, interesting, or new? I’m hopeful to sit and write Tuesdays and Fridays as I will start having time to myself again. I figure it’s probably healthier to set realitstic goals that align with my life versus trying to go balls deep on everything I’m “supposed to” or “I should do” but what do I know? I’m still convinced I’m not recovering even though I’m clearly exhibiting healthier thought processes and whatnot. OI vey.