Shit happens.

Back and forth. To and fro.

The shit talker, aka the big B, doesn’t know what it wants 99.9% of the time. Every thought, every decision is spun into a seemingly unending web. As always its a work in process. Wade through the bullshit, pick up the good shit and put it in the pocket of my waders. The problem with all of it being that I can’t differentiate. I second guess myself out of habit and self preservation. Its almost impossible most of the time to figure out what I want and what my bipolar wants. I have made plenty of irrational decisions while riding a bipolar high or low, only to level out and realize I have a huge mess to clean up. There is a very large difference between making a decision and regretting it and making an irrational bipolar backed decision that makes no damn sense and post pones life and progress etc. I do the first because I am human, and the second because I’m a medically diagnosed roller coaster.

What the is all pertaining to at the moment:

I dropped out of a semester for the umpteenth time. Go figure.

The back story being that I had my wisdom teeth out and the anesthesia made me flip shit. After looking at my diagnosis and current medications the anesthesiologist warned me about it happening. I didn’t think anything of it. I have been under more times than a 22 should have in my opinion (I’m counting 7 inn my head) and it has never done anything that I can recall. Well it did this time. It started with rapid cycling and then debilitating anxiety, which I haven’t had since the 5th grade well before I was diagnosed. Then the depression set in and suicide was at the beginning and end of every thought. It was the kind of depression that make suicide sound completely logical. The kind that eventually makes you numb. I couldn’t sit in class because I was being a total not job. Crying, getting angry, picking myself up and then throwing myself down and so on. I couldn’t put on a face, it wasn’t even an option. Between the surgery and the loss of sanity I missed too much and at the worst point trying to explain to professors was going to put me over the edge. Which talking about all of this is not something I shy away from if that gives any indication of how off kilter I was.

Deciding to drop was the worst part. I froze. I felt that if I made no move at all then nothing was happening and that gave me some relief. I knew it couldn’t go on forever, so I did the dirty deed and dropped. This is maybe the 4th time that this has happened. Every time something big happens and then the bipolar jumps at an opportunity to fan the flames. And every time this happens I devise a new plan. I talk to my therapist and my loved ones to keep me reasonably grounded. With every plan I get less motivated and lose a little more hope.

I’d love to be a wilderness woman. I love the outdoors. I love the wild. I love nature. All of it and then some. I started setting my sights on a degree in wildlife management with which I could do biological work, animal rehabilitation, work in the parks system etc. etc.

The catch is that every time I start back in school I repel away from it. I don’t want to, but it happens. Even when I take baby steps, which I am not fond of at all.

My therapist tole me the other day that instead of trying to work against my bipolar I need to work around it. Sometimes I feel like I’ve got it all on lock, but then I have those moments where I am in awe of how much more I have to learn and work on. I do try to triumph over it. I want to knock it over and put one foot on its chest. But I do know that isn’t how it works.

So for now the plan is to follow the dreams that seem impossible and so called natural talents. Which I won’t start making a case against that last statement.

Photography has always been my thing. Two years ago I started analogue. I use film constantly and having my own darkroom is a huge goal. I’m signed up for a multiple course certificate of completion program at a highly respected gallery and photography institute nearby.

The other? Writing. And not the nonsense involving this whole hotmess. Well maybe one day. But not now.

At this point its about picking up what I set down and finding what I loss, starting with photography and writing. It’s so easy for depression to strip you of your interest, and so hard to get back in the game.

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