Everyday is like pushing a boulder up a hill. You get it to the top one day, and then you have to start over completely the next day. It feels like no victory is a lasting one.
Lately, I awake every morning, hating the fact that I exist. Lamenting the fact that I pull air into my lungs. Throughout the day, I attempt to work my way out of that feeling, only to accomplish it at the end and have to start over almost immediately.
Sure, there are good days. But, they are so few and far between that they barely register in my brain anymore. Of course there are the manic days, but even though I feel great, I barely get to remember them. Which, definitely seems unfair.
The past few weeks have been the most trying. Every time I feel like I’m getting a hold of myself, I find that the rug is pulled out from under me and I was only fooling myself.
The thing is, I’m not better. Not even close. Hell, I’m not so sure that the medication is working. That’s on top of the fact that I’m pretty sure I may also be suffering from aspergers.
I become singularly focused, I’m socially withdrawn. When I do interact, I’m not sure what lines are drawn. Many of the symptoms of aspergers mirror the symptoms of bipolar disorder.
Maybe one day, I’ll be better. Today isn’t that day. I’ve lost my marriage. I’m on the verge of losing my job. I’ve become so anxiety driven that I can’t handle everyday interaction or life in general. I’m spending most of my time wanting to curl up in a ball and hoping it all ends.