I was eating lunch, feeling pretty okay when I started crying out of nowhere. It turned into uncontrollable sobs and thoughts swept into my head about hurting myself. I pushed away my plate and headed to the basement where my heavy bag is. If I had thoughts of hurting myself, I might as well dissipate them with boxing and kickboxing drills. I beat the shit out of that bag. Burst a blood vessel on the top of my left foot. Bruised my knuckles, my shins. I went at it hard. And then? I collapsed. And I cried. Harder than I have at any point in my life. Horrible sobs and wails escaped me. Everything went black, it consumed me, took control. All the sorrow, the emptiness, the pain, my God the pain, the anger, frustration, hate . . .it came pouring out of me. Pouring out in tears, in screams, in sobs. All that pain I felt, that hollowness at my core . . .in that instant, I wanted to die. To truly die. Not ideation, not wishing it would stop. Dead. I wanted to be dead. And I was down the hallway from the gun safe. I had pills. I had razors to slit my wrists.
But I didn't have the energy. Instead, I curled into a ball on the floor and cried more. I must have been a sight. I was thankful no one was home. And when I felt safe, safe enough to move and not do something stupid, I got up. I went upstairs and cleaned myself up. And I painted.
This is what I painted:
It's called "Rainy Day". If you click it, you should be able to see it bigger.
It's dark, yeah? Yeah. My art is cathartic. It helps me vent. It helps me release the negativity. There is symbolism in this piece, and song lyrics that go along with it. I'll include them at the end of this post.
I broke down again Thursday evening in my bedroom. J came in and held me. Talked to me. Told me what he was noticing in my behavior, my patterns. And you know what? It helped. And I could smile a little.
Friday was a better day. I was very hyper-emotional, but it was okay. Dinner with friends and I didn't have to excuse myself to cry. Saturday and Sunday were even better. I worked, and I felt more like myself. I joked, I smiled, I laughed. J even (half) joked that he thought I may swing hypomanic. All in all, I had three pretty good days.
Today. . . today has also been alright. Went to the gym this morning (which was stupidly busy by the way. Apparently all the New Year's resolution people are joining earlier this year). J sent me an email that made me cry. A lot. A good cry, but I want to be done with crying. I'll include that email later on in another post. Had therapy with M, which, as always, lifts my spirits. Showed him my latest six(!) paintings which we discussed a little (including the above painting). It's early though, and who knows what the evening will bring.
I'm not certain of anything anymore. Not when it comes to my bipolar. And especially not right now. I know I'll make it through to the other side. I've shown that much by not killing myself, by painting, by being here to write this. . .and by having better days. Maybe I'll still be living moment to moment. Maybe soon it will switch to day by day. But I'll keep plowing on through because that's all I can do.
It's all any of us can do.
Not the full song, but the pertinent part:
Rainy Day
Try wearing my insides out
I don't even try, I know I have seen the best I'll have
I don't even try
Never been one to take my chances
I don't even try
Clouds are comin
Air get's heavy
Looks like trouble on a rainy day
Sun starts sinking
Can't see my shadow
Looks like trouble on a rainy day
Holes uncovered
Walls will crumble
All spells trouble on a rainy day
- Guster
Italics added by me.
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