I know that I am not doing the things that I should to stay healthy--mentally or physically. I know that I should not stay up super late working on beading. I should do other things during the day-- like get outside in the beautiful weather and interact with people...
But instead I feel sick (once again not convinced that this is not in part psycho-somatic) and stay inside working obsessively on my projects. AND I DON'T CARE I have no interest in changing this behavior that I am well aware is not productive. This is the part I read about in literature aimed at friends and family of bipolar people. It talked about bipolar people not being willing to take responsibility for their own contributions to hypomanic/manic/depressive states. Which is NOT to say that we are necessarily in control of these states any more than anyone is in control of their own emotions. But it was saying that it is the responsibility of the bipolar person to recognize early signs of mania/hypomania/depression and take appropriate action to prevent a full-blown mood episode from starting. BUT I DON'T CARE I am getting things done. I like the result of my progress. I am getting much more done (art-wise) than I would be getting done if I behaved responsibly. I will give myself this much credit: I have stayed out of the garden and not engaged in large-muscle hypomanic activities. I will list the things that I have not done...
There are any number of things that need to happen in the yard, but I don't trust myself to do those things. So I remain stuck inside on my beading projects in thrall to creation of something new. And when I stop doing these things, when I start to engage in grown-up and responsible activities, the edges of panic creep back. I guess my reasoning is that if I am going to have so much anxious energy, I may as well get something tangible out of the deal. A friend has suggested that I try to get stuff ready for application to the women's art expo... Gotta go. Planning to write a bit (novel-wise) before returning to running a glover's needle through leather. Comments are closed.
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K. BuchananQuaker, teacher, parent, |