Going Under

I feel restricted. Writing this blog. I had different expectations. That I would write and just purge myself of everything. But I'm caught up in censoring myself....

I'm battling demons. Who isn't? My demons have haunted me for years. For as long as I can remember. And now, at 33, I struggle with daily tasks and managing the spectrum of emotions the human soul is capable of processing. There is no balance, no normalcy, no idealist notion that "all is well". I am bipolar. I accept the label and understand the stigma. My mind races. My body tires. My moods -unpredictable. I'm exhausted and I'm starting to realize, exhausting. I take daily medications and go through bouts of therapy when necessary. A lot of resources have been spent maintaining a life that, from the inside, I don't even recognize.

I'm not who I was supposed to be. I never was.

I'm treading water in a vast sea. There are days I have the strength and determination to keep my head above water. To fight the currents and damn the swells. Those days are fewer and farther between lately. Most days, I struggle. I struggle with tide of emotions, the undertow of depression and endless exhaustion from trying to stay afloat.

Everyone around me is effected by my disorder. The guilt I carry from that is overwhelming at times. And at the same time, these people who love and care about me, have no idea, cannot fathom, how much of the person I was and the person I wanted to be has been forever changed by the years of my inner war. I've tried to learn how to ride the waves. You have to, to exist. But mere existing is not living. It's an injustice to the body I've been given. To my children. To God. But it's hard to hold on to that fact in the midst of drowning.