They say "it's better late than never".

Even though I've always hated the idea that someone could show up late and get just as much credit, I'm starting to see the validity of the notion from a renewed standpoint. One that comes with age and time - much like a fine cheese or wine; something that ripens and enriches itself with quiet, reflection and solitude. 

     Over the last few months, I've felt myself pull away from the world, like a sick animal pulling away from the herd to recover... or die. I don't use the analogy lightly, because frankly, there isn't anything light about it. The last year of my life has been some of the most difficult terrain I've had to traverse yet, and I don't think I ever could have quite expected such a drastic change in my self, my personality, my behaviours, and my ways of being in the world. But, you know. As the saying goes:

     "Things change".

     Three weeks ago I was diagnosed as Bipolar. Not something shocking or life-changing; rather, something freeing and exact. Finally, something to define my everly-increasing mood swings, rampant lows, never-ending exhaustion, and constant sickness.

     If there is ever something to make you feel more crazy than constantly being sick and tired when you try your absolute best to be well and active - I don't want to know it. I honestly suffered more in the not-knowing, than I ever did via the chemical imbalance in my brain. And as it turns out, being misdiagnosed (and medicated) for depression (as I was) only exacerbates the severity of bipolarism in those who have it. Something I would have well appreciated knowing long ago (however, was re-assured by my mental health professional that it is difficult to detect if not made aware of its presence to begin with).

 

     The unfourtunate side-effect of mental illness is that it's a legitimate illness, present in the body, like any flu or virus. It's a genetic disorder, present in many people, that can be triggered by environmental influences or just the chemicals in the body being allowed to run their course. Bipolarism resides on a specrum, much like depression or any other mental illness, and they run in cycles. Each cycle that follows the next comes in a greater intensity, which is largely the reason why it isn't detected until much later in life. And like most chronic illnesses, it is something that needs to be monitored and actively worked with to stabilize - much like diabetes - something that needs daily monitoring and support.

 

    “Long is the way and hard, that out of Hell leads up to light.”  -Milton

 

     I can't impress enough upon those who have not lived it, the calm that comes with finally knowing the root of your ills; the solution to your riddle; in finally seeing the hand holding open the door leading to the light beyond the darkness that engulfs you. It's almost as impossible to impress upon those who have not lived it, the never-ending heartbreak of lows, and highs; much less, the crashing between the two like a ragdoll at their whims.

     Walking out of that doctors office, I felt elated. He told me I was nothing short of heroic, in trying to find the root of my pain and discomfort, and truly applauded me for continuing to move forward, despite the exhaustion and dispair that he knows haunts and lurks my every turn. 

     That utterance alone cleared my fog for a minute - a fog that was something I was beginning to quietly sink into, with no hopes of resurfacing. Over the last year, I have struggled and fought in the hopes of "winning" against my mental illness, just as I have struggled and fought since the tender age of 14 to keep it in check. Running, writing, art, travel - you name it - has been there when I needed it; to sweat it out, to speak it out; to get as far away from it as possible, as it torturted me then as it does now. Very few people in my life have honoured my illness as legitimate - and even myself, present in the not-knowing, I admit, it is hard to be patient and kind with an illness that decieves you.

 

     “When you're lost in those woods, it sometimes takes you a while to realize that you are lost. For the longest time, you can convince yourself that you've just wandered off the path, that you'll find your way back to the trailhead any moment now. Then night falls again and again, and you still have no idea where you are, and it's time to admit that you have bewildered yourself so far off the path that you don't even know from which direction the sun rises anymore.” - Gilbert

 

     Many subject our place in life, with our willpower and perserverance to make it happen. And while that is definitely true, and while I am still an advocate for hard work and hustle, it's not always the 'be-all and end-all' of life's accomplishments; as there are thousands of things we as humans cannot simply will ourselves to do. There are many amazing and inspiring people out there who awe us with their greatness, and who - never for a second - would be doubted for that greatness. However, we never see the full breadth of what it takes to get there, to that greatness - nor, the personal battles we all fight, day-in, day-out to make life happen. We never know the mountains of self-doubt, risk, challenge, hurt, and pain that accompany these slivers of greatness - because we always talk about the greatness, and seldom the struggle that accompanies it. 

     If you asked me years ago, about what makes greatness, I would have told you "good heart and good hustle". I didn't think there was anything that you couldn't work through or get past without a bit of hard work - and that was still from the standpoint of having seen some shit. 

     Little did I fully acknowledge, that time and journeys are subjective and intimate; they are totally different when viewed through the eyes of those who feel them, and those who live them; versus those who live beside them, or in passing. Growing up, I felt so much anger and resentment for those who appeared to 'have it easy' that I never considered the possibility of their own pain and struggles, but rather, used the notion to reinforce my own. 

     And it's not so much that I've ever been in competition with anyone, per se, but rather, myself and my perceptions of myself and my place in the world. We all know that everyone is unique, and that we all have a different road to walk in this life that we are given here on earth. We all know that you can't compare or compete with others, because that's like pitting a runner and a cyclist and then expecting them to both make an honest competition out of it. And while I have always understood this concept myself as well, I think what I am learning now is that it's much harder to practice this idea with an open heart; than it is to get caught up in the hype of it all. The hype being: competition, competitiveness, self-doubt, comparisons, etc. I heard a quote once "another woman's beauty does not diminish your own" and I was glad to come across it. Becuase it was true, and I needed the reminder. 

 

     “Don't always be appraising yourself, wondering if you are better or worse than others. "I will not reason and compare," said Blake; "my business is to create." Besides, since you are like no other being ever created since the beginning of time, you are incomparable. ” - Ueland

     

     Don't get me wrong - no one has ever been harder on myself than me. But that's just the point. I always brushed off my sadness and exhaustion as 'being emotional' or simply, being lazy. Never for a moment did I ever even stop to truly sink into the sadness and exhaustion that is my every breath - to truly feel it and acknowledge it completely. Knowing myself, I've always worked way too hard; accomplished way too much; and been way too disappointed in myself when the smallest of plans runs awry. Why? As I see it now, stopping to feel sad and tired was a cop-out; total bullshit - basically, wasting time in feeling sorry for myself when that time could be better spent on running or writing or reading or learning or traveling or exploring (basically, anything that could keep me distracted for long enough). 

     I feel the need to bring up this concept of exhaustion, because I simply cannot emphasize enough how much it pervades each nook and cranny. Even as I write this (and have been, for days now) I feel tired (albeit excited) at the notion of doing something other than sleep (which is what I want to be doing right now, and most days, always). When every limb you own is weighted down by such seemingly infinite sadness, getting out of bed to eat, go to work, live (even just a little) seems like a major accomplishment. And while I have always had my friends and family tell me "Megan... you work so hard, you do so much... it's okay to take a break, to relax, to enjoy, to sleep..." I have never been content upon believing them. Because for me, that wasn't an option. Stopping meant certain death; it meant I was lazy and pathetic; it meant I was no good, and would fall 'behind', and would never be 'as good' as other people if I let them get 'ahead' while I was 'taking a break'. 

     Even so, those days that I would relax a little (you know, only do 2 things instead of 15), I would start to feel bad about myself, in a way that I was not living up to my (exceedingly unrealistic) expectations of what accomplishment looks like. Every time someone tells me "oh, you've really done a lot" I just laugh, thinking to myself... if only that were true. 

 

     “Habit is habit, and not to be flung out of the window by any man, but coaxed down-stairs one step at a time.” -Twain

 

     So what now? 

 

     It's taken me about 3 weeks to really sink into change, and to really get to a point where I can push myself to do it. Much like an addict, I'm trying to remember every day that life is a process, and that every moment that I am alive, breathing, listening to myself, eating, getting up, leaving the house, and sleeping well at night are accomplishments well earned in themselves. It's hard. So, so, so, so hard to be kind enough with myself in order to be happy with that M.O. It's hard to break those habits of doubting and disappointing myself because I didn't earn the world in a single day; it's hard to be gentle with my body and my heart, when all I've done is wake up, go to work, and come back home again.

     But the fact of the matter is, I am in recovery. I am sick, in my head (and I have been for a while). It is going to take incredible work to get me back to a place that resembles the person I was before last year - the beginning of my slow descent into even darker lows. All I am trying to do at this point is breathe in that; to live one day at a time, hour by hour, moment by moment, until I can find a place of strength, and courage, and stability again.

 

     “The only courage that matters is the kind that gets you from one moment to the next.” -McLaughlin

 

     This blog post is a shining example of that idea. It's taken me about three days to write and finish, during my moments of quickly-fading strength and energy. But it is a start. It is a foundation for looking into these dark and icky parts of myself, and of the greater human experience; for I know I am not alone in this sadness, nor this fear, exhaustion, disappointment - none of it. 

     I hope to be patient in this process; I have rarely been successful in maintaining a blog (likely because I get so overwhelmed by how bad I'm being at it that I just give it up and move on to something else), but I'm hoping to take it one post at a time; looking into all the things that arrive along the way. 

 

     The sun has set upon an old me, and it is dark and cold and foreign. I have been walking around in circles, and I am tired, and more than once I have thought about abandoning the pack. However. I haven't. And today that is good enough for me.

 

     It is good enough for me. 

 

 

     “I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.” -Nietzsche