I have finally decided to face the fact that I will never get better. I've come face-to-face with this issue; I've stared it square in the face and ... I give. Now before you get on your great, big high horse, let me explain.
I'm not ready to swallow the barrel, or swing from the yardarm, or drink down the cyanide cocktail. Sure, I've thought about it, and I can't say I never will ... who knows what the future brings. What I am saying is that I finally acknowledge that mental illness can't be cured. With the proper medication it can be abated, temporarily held at bay, or maybe reduced to a manageable level. But it ... is ... always ... there!
I will have, actually I now have, acceptable and not-so-acceptable days. I've stopped calling them "good" and "bad" days, for the simple fact that I don't have good days any more. It was hard to get excited about "good" days, because, due the very nature of Bipolar Disorder, a bad day was sure t follow.
Any more, I don't feel good, I don't feel bad ... I just have a hard time feeling ... period. Sorry but that is just the way it is ...
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