Sometimes I wonder how I’m trapped inside these walls of prison. It turns out that I’m the one who keeps building and reinforcing the walls for the sake of security. However, the more invincible the shell is made, the more vulnerable the heart becomes.
I keep counting how much longer until I can finally become my normal self again, but all I can do is counting the days I’ve been desiring. And then, I begin to question about the definition of normality. What’s normal? How was I before? How am I now? How will I be?
It’s like roaring in the infinity of silence. It’s living in a dilemma.
Now that my bipolar disorder is in control, I don’t have manic behaviors anymore. I don’t rush around doing errands, I don’t have racing thoughts on my mind, I don’t feel like running out of time every day. It also means that my motivation and energy are gone. Sometimes I have to admit that I miss being maniac because I can be fully functioning all day and feel alive with it. All I’m left now is some depression that won’t seem to go away as I’m not ready to tear down the walls at all. I’m currently trying out Lithium to see if it helps. Adjusting medication is frustrating though. It can work wonders once and suddenly become useless.
My doctor’s once mentioned that there are open and closed systems in recovery process. Closed system is apparently my scheduled appointment and medication that probably help up to 60% of my condition. I still have to work with the 40% in open system on my own, which suggests a healthy lifestyle, a supportive circle, engaging social activities, and anything that boosts up my attitude and leads me out of the prison. The trickiest part is that I’m scared of living a life. I’m tired from the inside out. I’m stuffed with nightmares every day. My weekly routine is all about meeting my doctor and buying groceries only, and I can already fill myself with many uncomfortable feelings en route. Nothing yet seems to be able to alter the fact that I’m still holding myself back, lacking the courage to meet my best friends again, leaving home once alone without fear. Even the tiniest, simplest job can appear to be frightening or threatening to me, even though my logic tells me not. My emotions beat my logic sense and my wishes.
It’s taken more courage than I thought to be writing again even it’s only like babbling random, organized thoughts and updates to myself. It sounds foolish, but it kinda feels like I’m talking to someone as I type. Lonely, isn’t it.
I can see myself so much improved because I
no longer have suicidal thoughts and plans now. The darkest times have gone. I got through them even though they keep haunting me every day, and I’m still finding a way to live calmly with those dreadful memories.
It can be a lifelong battle, but anyone can become a warrior, right?
Late Night, 4.16.2017