Today, I was worried. I’ve spent much of the last two days on Amazon, clicking the “show only one day delivery eligible” button, or whatever it’s called. I spent a crap ton of money, trying to catch up to the Christmas spirit that has been eluding me thus far this year. I’ve had a smile on my face. I’m binge watching “Grey’s Anatomy” and reading…well….the Internet. I’ve had no stress, or anxiety. I didn’t even realize that tomorrow was Christmas Eve until McKayla pointed it out. Oh, really? Cool.
So, am I manic? Am I on a high that is going to crash at JUST the wrong time? Am I going to ruin Christmas, or the trip to Seattle? And I think about it, and no. I’m not manic. I’m not chemically altered by substances inside or outside my brain. I’m just….
a 5 letter word that starts with H.
I don’t want to say the word. Yes, I’m not Irish, as I grew up believing, but I was raised to be superstitious. The H word to someone with bipolar is like the M word in theatre. I do not want to jinx it. I’m telling Aaron this story, and we come up with “hello.”
…so I’m hello. And I’m going to try to ride this out as long as I can. And I know that the next 36 hours will be high stress (I literally have 20 packages arriving “by 9 pm tomorrow” from Amazon and my present-wrapping strategy of “pay someone better than me to do it” will not likely work this year, as my present wrapper did all of my shopping and is not…hello.
But I think I can do it. This is likely going to be the hardest Christmas I’ve had in a long time. I lost my mom. I’m worried about my job. My kids are struggling. My passion makes me crazy. My “person” and I are having our moments. But everyone around me has my back. And I can actually feel it. It’s not often that I can feel it the way I do right now. But I do.