All Quiet On The Western Front

It’s amazing how different this Christmas feels than last year. A year ago, I was still reeling from the shock of my bipolar diagnosis and suffering through a deep depression to boot; I was also insecure in my job (which turned out not to be unfounded), anxious, frustrated, and afraid. This December, however, is much calmer and I feel as though there is a guiding hand helping steer my little red wagon, despite the fact that the year has been one nightmare after another and I’ve questioned my faith more than once.

I am definitely on an even keel now. It’s like bipolar disorder has never even existed for me. But never fear—that last go-round forever laid to rest any ideas I might have had about NOT having it. There will be no more mental meanderings into “well, maybe it’s really x instead of y” territory; even if x does show up, I’ll still be y. There’s simply way too much evidence of it. I don’t know if this constitutes acceptance or not, but whatever you call it, that particular battle is over.

And in a way, it’s a relief. It’s also one less thing to stew about, which is probably part of the reason why this Christmastime feels so much more settled. I know what I’m dealing with, and I’m learning better ways to prevent trouble instead of relying on meds and frantic calls to Dr. Awesomesauce to save me when I’m up to my hairline in it.

Not that I DON’T need to rely on meds……oh, no, I got over that months ago. I no longer resent taking medications or feel the need to rebel against some unidentified authority by ‘forgetting’ them. I will always wish I didn’t have to take pills to function normally, but I do and that’s that. Might as well wish for the Lifetime TV channel to skip the sappy holiday movies. (Well, I’ve wished for that too, and look where it got me.)

So I have little to complain about as I survey my surroundings with satisfaction. The Christmas lights are twinkling merrily, the house is warm, Will is napping contentedly in his recliner, and there are gifts under the tree with my name on them. Life is good for now…..and if you’re like me (or even if you’re not), ‘for now’ is all you can really count on anyway.


Published by bpnurse

I'm a retired registered nurse and writer who also happens to be street-rat crazy, if the DSM-IV.....oops, 5---is to be believed. I was diagnosed with bipolar I disorder at the age of 55, and am still sorting through the ashes of the flaming garbage pile that my life had become. Here, I'll share the lumps and bumps of a late-life journey toward sanity.... along with some rants, gripes, sour grapes and good old-fashioned whining from time to time. It's not easy being bipolar in a unipolar world; let's figure it out together.

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