Like many writers, I’ve decided to indulge in the annual tradition of reminiscing about the year gone past and anticipating the arrival of a new one. It seems the older I get, the faster go the years, and 2014 was no exception.
It has not been a good year, to say the least. It began with so many hopes and dreams, all of which were shattered when my surveyor job didn’t work out. I never did land another job, and Will and I found ourselves deep in poverty after my unemployment benefits ran out. We even had to apply for food stamps and Medicaid. I finally filed for disability after Dr. Awesomesauce talked about it in session a few months back. Multiple med adjustments have been necessary, and it seems like Zyprexa will be a constant companion for many months (or years) to come.
In the meantime, the stress continued to build until I had a complete breakdown at the end of October, which resulted in my first hospital admission. It turned out that my accursed illness had worsened to the point that I was re-diagnosed bipolar 1, and that was the end of any doubts I might have had left about whether or not I had the disorder. I’m still battling a bit of depression, but Dr. A bumped up my antidepressant yesterday and hopefully that will be the end of it. (I have to give him major credit for doing it while he’s on vacation.)
Now, I’m not naïve enough to believe that the simple flip of a calendar page means that everything will be great from now on. I’ve learned that we carry our baggage with us into each New Year, and that things don’t change unless we do. The past three years have been variations on a theme of BAD and I don’t see a miraculous change in the forecast for this one. But we have a new home where we can make a fresh start, Will is still relatively healthy, and I’m getting better. We’re going to be nice and warm this winter, and I’ll have a place to plant flowers come spring. It’s the best we could have hoped for under the circumstances; while it won’t be easy living with other people again, we’ll make it work.
So ends a year filled with all sorts of unhappy moments, but one which also taught me a good deal about what I have to do to take care of myself. (This is easier than you’d think: all I have to do is refer to the forgiveness letter I wrote while I was inpatient.) It’s a work in progress, as am I…..but aren’t we all?