My relationship – so beautiful, so loved, yet I find it hard to talk about myself. More than social anxiety, just not having the words. But I love her more than anything.
This situation, this pandemic – so hard to sit inside, to face nowhere to go, that it’s not only me who is limiting myself, it’s the world’s situation. Both afraid to get it, and to pass it along. And my heart bleeds for all who have not been able to be at home: first line workers, last responders, grocery store and restaurant workers, etc. The fear that must be out there and I’m stuck inside with almost nothing I can do to alleviate the anxiety, including my own.
My inability to access language and concepts like I did before the bipolar diagnosis, like not being able to put the arc of a story on my own story – there is no ending yet, happy or otherwise, and I can’t seem to outline high points or put like events together. And this is just one example of lack of conceptual ability. I live each day impulse by impulse and can’t seem to stretch my thinking to days or weeks or months at a time. No planning, no sense of self beyond the current moment self. And this has been going on since Years before the pandemic.
Ennui, suicidal feelings, the blackness of existence – these are never far from my thoughts. I have a plan, I always have had plans, and sometimes I feel closer to following through on one of them. Even though after my pulmonary embolism scare I have repeatedly chosen life and want my body to keep its survival instincts. I’m plagued by these daily horrible, terrible visions of ending my life, accompanied by – minimally – a sense of the purposelessness of life, of my life, and darkness in my soul that begs to overtake my thoughts and survival instincts and just fall into the abyss of blessed nothingness.
Still I persist.
My life feels purposeless because I’m not making the world a better place, or preparing myself to do work that will make the world a better place. This has been my experience for years! A decade of meaninglessness. Not just the pandemic listlessness, helplessness. I have tried part-time work – failed. I have tried volunteering – failed. I can’t get my mind to work right to handle input and then turn it into output, like leading a meeting. Then the anxiety kicks in. Then mood swings kick in. I’m supposed to be healing – 10 years of healing??? Why can’t my brain work? I can’t do anything. And just “be-ing” is very boring by now, and just invites the abyss into my forward thoughts and not just in the back of my mind.