I can't believe it's been so long since I've written in here. Since July. Well, not much has happened in my life to write about. No sudden turn-abouts in my mental and emotional health. I continue depressed and the onset of winter--we had snow this morning--is not helping. Sometimes I wonder if I should move to a state that didn't have winter, but I remember when I lived in California I hated it there so I know that's not the answer.
I have just spent the last hour or so reading all the blog posts I have ever written. I can't believe at one point I had so much to say. Now everything is flat. I feel no real anger or real pain, but no joy either. This stinks. I would rather have the mood swings and all that comes with them. I understand why so many others with Bipolar Disorder go off their medication. It almost comes with the territory.
But I won't do that. I'm too afraid of what might happen.
Fear rules a big part of my life. Fear of being judged from the outside. M. is constantly telling me that what I feel on the inside doesn't reflect on the outside, but I wonder. This bleakness must show somewhere, mustn't it? But then, I've always been good at covering it up. Even to go over to the in-laws, I put on my nice clothes and a smile that I don't feel. I can keep this up for hours.
Then I get very tired and have to go hide.
Lately, I have been hiding on Facebook. It's not all hiding, actually. I hooked up with a few old friends, which has been nice. I also hooked up with friends from other sites, which is also nice. But still I have that fear of being judged. What if what I say and do isn't acceptable? What if I'm unintentionally mean?
When I started this blog I didn't worry too much about things like that. My family wasn't in my life. My old friends weren't in my life. Now they are again to a degree and I wonder if I've spoken too boldly where I should have remained silent.
There's a sweatshirt I want that says, "Be careful or you might end up in my novel." Even though I'm not writing much at the moment, I like that. It reminds me that a writer's craft is taking things from real life, chopping them up, adding extra bits here and there and making stew.
Sometimes that though is enough to keep the fear at bay.
Sometimes it isn't.
That's all I can say right now. At least I wrote something. And for me that's an accomplishment these days.