Wisdom is a vine that never stops growing

It is quarter of 5 AM as I write this, which is hardly unusual for me as I’ve had a sleep disorder most of my life. Which developed first, the sleep disorder or the bipolar disorder? Or are they one in the same? Studies think so.

I had an especially unpleasant sleep/wake cycle yesterday. I stayed in a dream state the whole time and my body was sticky with sweat. I’m not sure of the cause of the sweating, if it’s a medicinal side effect or the nature of my dreaming.

I’m trying to listen to audiobooks again after a hiatus; I still can’t concentrate enough to actually read. I read voraciously when I remained in a constant depression; this is not the case with my current rapid cycling.

Since lowering my Cymbalta in half in an effort to get off of it entirely, I haven’t been cycling as fast but I’m still not anywhere near stable, much less happy. I’m still trying to figure out why it’s worth it to still be here, alive. I’m constantly having to go back to the drawing board, reevaluating different strategies.

Continuing to increase my Lamictal is probably in order. The depression is undoubtedly more disabling and uncomfortable than the hypomania. This daytime sleepiness has got to stop. It really doesn’t help that my sleep hygiene is so poor as it is.

Music has always been the most effective treatment for my depression, but unfortunately I’m not always in the mood to listen to it; it’s still kind of an activity you have to involve yourself in. Sometimes even loading the Spotify app and a playlist requires effort I might not have at the moment. Perhaps I need an Alexa-like function?

I haven’t painted. I haven’t drawn. I haven’t colored. I haven’t cleaned. There is no more room in the fridge as I have crammed all the rest of the garbage I couldn’t fit in the already overflowing garbage can. When I get around to taking it all to the dumpster, I usually have 3-5 bags full.

I still have unread books I rented from the library over a week ago. Now I’ve downloaded a 12-hour lecture on human personality. At least it gives me something interesting to listen to while I’m in the car. I especially dislike driving long distances now. In the past, untreated, I would impusively trek down to Miami on a regular basis.

I am beginning to see someone right now, though. That could be a positive thing. It has only been a week since we first started talking. I have hung out with him once so far.

He is very different from any other guy I’ve corresponded with online, which does make me a little suspicious. Not mistrusting, or even doubtful… just suspicious.

His name is Nick but we already refer to each other by the pet names I selected, Tarzan and Jane.

“Your mind is the only thing in the way… it’s only an idea…,” he wrote during one of our conversations.

“The world has hardened me… but I stay as soft as I can,” I responded.

“What you are is apparently beautiful… who you think you’ve become is a story you keep telling yourself exists because of circumstances.

You can keep telling yourself this idea is real. I’ll point at the truth of what you really are… a care bear. Never have to pretend with me.”

Herein lies the difference between Tarzan (Nick) and the fellow I was talking about from late May: it’s not merely our similarities this time; there is a genuine interest in me as a person. That wasn’t there last time.

I think this realization, this difference, is important. I feel a sense of validation. I think… I hope… our exploration is not cut short. For better or worse, men have appeared and disappeared just as swiftly in my life ever since my last authentic relationship. That is not how I roll, but some would call them blessings in disguise.

Every experience is valuable. Every interaction affects you. Every returned smile influences your day. Every disappointment sharpens your insight.

Wisdom is a vine that never stops growing. πŸŒΏπŸ‡

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