Thursday, 8 January 2015

A Kind of Therapy?

It's been quite some time, hasn't it?

My real life has been crazy these past couple of years and I've said and done some things that, well just weren't steps in the right direction.

I've managed to not only hurt myself  but some of the people whom I love with all my heart. It's been a rough ride and I sincerely hope that that was my rock bottom, but with Bipolar I can never be sure.

I've been busy writing for other people as well as changing the dynamics in my life, family, friends, jobs. It's been a long process. I've felt happier, in a lot of respects. Lost in others.

It's felt inappropriate to write for myself on this, and my other blogs while my 'development' was taking place. I can sometimes slip into a little bubble, a dream world, especially when I write here. It's like I'm writing about someone else, the things in my head aren't always real, and I've needed to stay fully connected to the real world at all times and not let myself get sucked into the danger that are my own thoughts.

I felt strong enough to write today. So here I am. But I'm finding it hard.

I have so very much flowing through my brain that it all gets jumbled up and messy. My dreams are vivid, but I can't quite get to them. I can reach out and touch things with my finger tips but I can't quite get a hold of them, forever out of my reach.

I've been on a real high lately. I know that now, because today I've crashed.
The world seems a dark, cold and empty expanse of nothingness and I feel lonely.

I wanted nothing more than to hide under my duvet all day, but family forces me to shift my arse whether I can manage the day or not.

If you see me, I will of course have a smile on my face, but inside I am anything but happy. I am miserable. I am melting away. I am crying.

I know I need the bad days so that I can feel the good. I know I can get through this, I'm just not sure how. Not right now anyway.

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