Lindsay, Interrupted

Most of the time my mind feels like a giant maze. While I'm hurdling through archways and around corners, I feel like a brown hairy lab rat desperately trying to find my way to the big cheese that's been promised as the denouement. And the whole time my every bump, misstep, or halt is carefully documented on the clipboard, so I can replay it over and over and over...

Somedays are wonderful.

Those are days that begin with stretching in my bed, with grey clouds shadowing the sun so it can't shine through the shades and blind me, then strawberries and English muffins for breakfast and a perfectly steamy hot shower with plenty of Blondie to sing along to.

Those are days that involve long hours hunched over my desk using the smallest possible paintbrush to stroke the watercolor... hunting for the word that fits in the sentence that's taken me days to compose... playing the same riff on the piano compulsively because when I play it, I can actually see spring unfolding and smell the salt of the ocean. Those are all things I call my "work," because whether I love it or hate it, I HAVE to do it.

Those are days when I treasure every moment, every breath, when I sigh at the thought of growing up even more. The days are filled with funny dog faces, sunsets, the magic of hearing "I love you" whispered over the phone from hundreds of miles away.

And other days feel like nightmares.

Those are days when I am aware of all the beauty, love, and blessings that surround me, but they don't compute and I feel selfish, ungrateful, and ugly.

Those are days when everything feels overdramatized--even the beating of my eyelashes on my pillow as I fall asleep seems like it's being played on an IMAX screen with full surround sound and 3-D glasses... Every sensory system of mine is on high alert, and every detail is right in my face, but colors are grey, food is tasteless, and even smiles don't make sense.

Those are days when my life is broken into just 15 minute segments of a video game, where my key objective is survival.

I feel a shift coming on, and I am finally unashamed and humble about my disease. I am a manic depressive, with obvious patterns and cycles. I am using mood charts, journals, and phrases like "support system." It's time I stop looking at my disease as a hindrance, as an embarrassment, or as a hurdle. I am a strong enough woman to turn this into a motivator, a push forward to greatness.

I know these occasionally personal rants are out of place on this sarcastic and succinct blog that I started... But this blog also serves as a diary of sorts, and someday I hope to look back over the documentation of this time in my life and not only laugh at the crazy ideas and thoughts I had, but also realize that the person who I was at age 21 was not far off from the person I strive to be.