This backstory feels heavy and ponderous. And yet it also feels necessary. To understand how someone reaches 53 w/o ever really dealing with a particular issue head-on matters. It matters to me as a person, but I think it matters more in our understanding of how people are suffering every day. It matters in the context of medical harm and how systemic issues of sexism and racism add further harm to individuals and how that equates to a societal ill. Our mental health issues are rampant and unchecked and we’re all just out here running into each other and judging each other and there is little to no understanding of the cost of this state of being. We have no grace for ourselves and each other in our trauma and in the comparison of our trauma.
Recognizing that other people are in worse situations, recognizing my privileges, I still need to process my hurt. My therapist says I’m not really angry I just have a deep well of hurt to face, rage is so much easier. But I digress, I’m here to speak the pain so that I can face it, and hopefully, as I heal and begin to work with instead of against my bipolar nature I’ll be more able to help out those who are suffering even more.
Ulitmately that is all I want, to be able to process so that I can more truly live and in doing so help others do the same. I beleive so passionatley that we are losing too much art, wonder, joy, and progress to people’s fears and pain and unrelenting traumas. How glorious would a world of people living authentically and with the capacity to face the darkness and triumph so much they can then share their gifts with the world w/out destroying themselves. Rather than comparing hurt we let each person live their truth w/o comparison.
Some say I’m a dreamer….
I’m avoiding the next chapter – The post-Rob Lafavor years. The way that grief tore me down to a shadow and had me regress to a proto version of myself like I hit a bipolar reset and was 20 all over again – in the worst broken ways possible.
It wasn’t all bad, they were also the yoga years, the Arizona family years, the South Korea Years, the find my way to California years…but before I can speak to that I’m going to have to wax poetical about grief – and honestly I’m too tired today.
Today there is no hypomania to push me through. Today I have that dull empty ache inside. Today I’m less enthusiastic, less hopeful. The good news is, now that I’m embracing and learning about my bipolar self I can see it for what it is and truly know that this too shall pass. Sometimes my neurotransmitters are on fire and some days they are sludge. I’m practicing moving through the sludge w/o getting bogged down while remembering to give myself grace, that understanding that I am not always in control of every little thing. And although that aggravates me, it also releases me… just maybe I’ll learn to actually relax.
Let’s not get ahead of ourselves 😀