It Turns Out...

You never really remember how good it feels to do something until you haven't been able to do it for a long time.  It is easy to forget how good the pen feels or how nice it is to have your hands dirty.  It feels good to play with paper and stamps and glitter.  And I had forgotten because I was down so low I couldn't get myself out of bed.  I was down so low I wanted to sleep and never wake up.  Chronic pain will fuck you up.  Bipolar disorder will fuck you up.

But, the good news is that both are manageable.  Once you accept that you will be on a lifetime of medications and that it.is.not.your.fault., you will be able to move beyond the initial denial and start managing your conditions.  Two years.  I was in the denial phase for two years.  Sure, I was taking my meds, but I was really hoping, craving, waiting for a magic cure for all of my problems.  Two years is a long time to waste.  Two years is a long time to spend in bed.

But again, there is good news.  My life was broken down before me, and I was able to see what was real and what was not, what was good for me and what was not.  I can see now what I need to do - no matter if it is harder than hell - and I know I have positive support.  Honestly, without my support line, I wouldn't have made it through the last three months.  I don't know if they let you blog from the hospital, but I doubt it.

So, here we are.  Two years and a bunch of internal bullshit later, and I feel like I am finally starting to make some progress.  I accept what is, and I am moving on.  It isn't good or bad, it just is.  There is no fault because it just is.  And I let it flow around me because I am a stone in the river - and the river is neither good nor bad, it just is.  It washes over me, and it just is.