31st December 2017
Have you ever climbed up a really steep, grassy
hill with a big bit of flattened cardboard? And slid to the bottom of that
really steep, grassy hill on that big bit of flattened cardboard? Me too. I’m
making the broad assumption that all of you have done that, because you really
should have; and if you haven’t, you probably need to for the sake of your
unfulfilled childhood.
To me, December is like that very last bit of the
slide. It is, arguably, the most fun; it’s the fastest; you accumulate the most
grass-burns; and you’re desperately trying to pull all of the fraying bits of
cardboard together before you inevitably embarrass yourself in front of all of
your friends by dislocating some body part. Which is when you regret all
decisions leading up to that moment of utter chaos, right before you decide to
climb up the hill, and do it all again.
Or maybe that’s just my December. And maybe the
slippery climb to the top of the hill, the dodging of other cardboarders, and
the regulation of breath so that nobody can see how truly unfit you are has
just been my 2017. It probably isn’t though, which is a relief. If there’s
anything more comforting to someone who is making their way through the
cyclical mundanity that is existence; it’s the knowledge that everyone else is
panting like pug dogs as well.
I know existence isn’t just mundane. It’s lots of
other things too, but you get what I’m saying. Like, to me, 2017 has been a
year of movement, discovery, bad choices, medicinally induced acne, and Tinder.
All of which were, most likely, imperative to my formation as a young adult; but
they mostly made for a very uncomfortable trip around the sun.
“But
Meg, you had a great year. You did all of those fantastic things, and your
Instagram looks fab.”
Yeah, I did have a great year. And I did do all of
that fantastic stuff. And my Instagram isn’t as aesthetic as I’d like, but it
does have photos of the aforementioned fantastic stuff (follow me). You’ve got
to understand though, that it’s still been pretty difficult. Not in a, “my life sucks, and I can’t believe I have
to vacuum again, somebody help me,” kind of way. Not even a depressed, “I
can’t get out of bed.” It’s more of a, “I’ve
completely forgotten what normal people feelings are, what the fuck is
happening to my heart? Are these stable people emotions? They’re actually so
shit.”
I recently read an old journal entry of mine, and
in it I said to myself that I wanted to be able to write about normal people
things. To experience things like love, and hurt, and disappointment, and joy,
in ways that weren’t tainted by my disorder. To get to the core of that journal
entry, is to say I wanted to feel. And not just feel, but to own it and say
that my state of being is mine.
“Shit,
she’s talking about feelings. Tap out, tap out.”
Wait, you have to stay because your validation
means a lot to me. For a long time, I’ve had very close to no autonomy over my
thoughts, moods, and emotions. So as I’ve progressed though my life; I’ve
become accustomed to my turbulent mind, and the ensuing numbness of treatment.
But this year, I began to learn to feel again.
“Oh yay,
Meg! That’s so good!”
Yeah, but it’s actually also very awkward.
So like, when I was obviously in the grip of the
grossness that is bipolar: I was going up and down the hill with very little
awareness about what was happening. I’d knock people over, I’d forget my piece
of cardboard, and throw myself from the highest peak with absolutely no idea
what was going on. With the medications; I could tell that I was going up and
down the hill, and I could see everything moving in a blur around me, but I
couldn’t interact with my surroundings, and so just rode out life with my brain
on autopilot. It’s like the piece of cardboard was carrying me, if you know
what I mean.
Now, here I am. With time, hard work, and relative
stability: I can see almost everything. I can see height of the hill from the
bottom, and the view from the top. I can see how far there is to climb, and to
fall: to enjoy, and to lament. And, my God, how do you sane people do this
every day? How do you navigate normal emotions like boredom, and infatuation,
and fear, and loneliness, and happiness, and contentedness, and neutrality? How
do you allow yourself to be disappointed? Or to be loved? And excitement, that
isn’t mania, is just the weirdest thing ever.
Adjusting to stability is so strange, and I am so
tired. In fact, I am currently face down in the dirt, and bum up in the air,
after losing my piece of cardboard way back in June. I think somebody stole it,
but not sure. And I wish I could say with definite optimism that the coming
year will be easier, and that my piece of cardboard will be even sturdier. But
that would be a lie, and lies make me feel guilty. I have no idea what’s going
on, and emotions are confusing and stupid. But I shouldn’t complain too much, because normal
emotions are exactly what I asked for. And I'm excited for them, I just need to learn to own them.