So it's been several months on this new med, Vraylar. I don't know if I've ever felt so "normal." So like I did before I was diagnosed. I can almost taste my early 20s. My three favorite frenemies have cut me out. My delusions seem to be a distant memory. My paranoia is non-existent. My hallucinations are but a thought. So what am I grieving?
There is something about walking uphill. Something in every human that wants to make the choice to persevere. When we are coasting we don't always get that fire. That I'm-not-gonna-go-down-easy mentality. When I find myself in a minor to somewhat-moderate crisis I go into protection mode. I put my armor on and fight the dragon. And usually, I win. Usually. I'm the hero of my own story.
It's sort of like training for a triathlon. The taste of challenge is bittersweet. There is a certain focus it takes and a certain commitment to self. The sweetness. We know that the race isn't going to feel easy in the least. There are going to be times we want to give up. The bitter.
I've only done a 5k though so who am I kidding...
There is something about contrast that seems so appealing to me. The black and the white. It's in my nature as someone with Bipolar 1. I've had a lot of practice with extremes so it seems like home now.
I know I don't have to worry too much. Over time my frenemies will knock on my door and I won't have a choice but to let them in. And I will. It isn't always graceful and it isn't always fun, but there is a certain magic to it all. Usually I know what I'm experiencing isn't based in reality so I have to trick myself, talk myself down, live inside the challenge. With a sword in my hand and a spark in my spirits I can fight off anything. Usually.