Happy things to appreciate ๐Ÿ’™ (updates!)

Random acts of kindness ๐Ÿ’•

Cloud watching โ˜๏ธ

Giving something my all๐Ÿ’ฏ

The tippytap of my dogโ€™s paws as he comes to me when I call him ๐Ÿพโฃ๏ธ

Family!! ๐Ÿ‘จโ€๐Ÿ‘ฉโ€๐Ÿ‘งโ€๐Ÿ‘ง

Fairytales about princesses and castles ๐Ÿฐ๐Ÿ‘‘

Classic Disney movies ยฐOยฐ ๐Ÿ“ผ

Waking up without an alarm โฐ ๐ŸŒ…

Selfies when Iโ€™m really feeling myself ๐Ÿคณ๐Ÿป

Coffee โ˜•๏ธ enjoying that first cup in the morning ๐Ÿ™‚

Meeting up with friends ๐Ÿ‘ญ

Getting stronger ๐Ÿ‹๐Ÿผโ€โ™€๏ธ (physically or mentallyyy)โ—๏ธ

Proving my resilience โฌ‡๏ธ๐Ÿ†™

Beer with friends after a long week ๐Ÿ—“๐Ÿป

Going on a trip โœˆ๏ธ

Pretty bows ๐ŸŽ€ (and other accessories) ๐Ÿ’

Smiling for no particular reason ๐Ÿ˜ƒ

Roller coasters!๐ŸŽข the anticipation at the top!

Fruit salad ๐Ÿ’๐Ÿฅ๐Ÿ๐ŸŽ๐Ÿ‰๐Ÿ‡๐Ÿ๐ŸŒ

When it all comes together like a puzzle ๐Ÿงฉ

Old school video games ๐ŸŽฎ

Leaving love notes (or any notes!) ๐Ÿ’Œ

Gettingggg love notes (or any notes!) ๐Ÿ“ฌ

Good news in the paper ๐Ÿ“ฐ

Enjoying nature ๐Ÿ”๐Ÿ•

Karaoke ๐ŸŽค

Flowers on a spring day ๐ŸŒท๐ŸŒป๐ŸŒบ๐ŸŒฟ๐ŸŒธ

Cookies and milk ๐Ÿช๐Ÿฅ›

The smell of rain/ thunderstorms โ›ˆโšก๏ธ

Balloons ๐ŸŽˆ

Tea ๐Ÿต with honey ๐Ÿฏ

Binge watching a good show on Netflix/Hulu ๐Ÿ–ฅ

Tropical vacations ๐Ÿ

The smell of mom baking apple pie on a fall morning ๐ŸŽ ๐Ÿฅง

The sun, rising every day ๐ŸŒ…

A fresh notebook waiting to be filled ๐Ÿ““

Cute puppies ๐Ÿถ

Cute cats ๐Ÿฑ

My favorite music ๐ŸŽผ ๐ŸŽถ๐ŸŽต

A stack of books waiting to be read ๐Ÿ“š

Seeing a rainbow ๐ŸŒˆ

Photography that captures feelings ๐Ÿ“ธ

Improving myself ๐Ÿ“ˆ

The sun coming out ๐ŸŒฅโ›…๏ธ๐ŸŒคโ˜€๏ธ

Fireworks ๐ŸŽ†๐ŸŽ‡

Cosmic phenomena ๐ŸŒ™๐Ÿ’ซ -notice the miracles

Getting a good nightโ€™s sleep ๐Ÿ’ค๐Ÿ˜ด

City skylines ๐ŸŒ‡ ๐ŸŒƒ

Office supplies ๐Ÿ“Žโœ๏ธ ๐Ÿ“‹

Magicโœจ/ unicorns ๐Ÿฆ„ / etc ๐ŸŒŸ

Being alive!! ๐ŸŒŽ appreciate that ๐Ÿ‘ˆ๐Ÿป

Shooting for the moon ๐Ÿš€ ๐ŸŒ•

Hot chocolate ๐Ÿซ on a cold winter day โ„๏ธ

Making someone happy ๐Ÿ˜ƒ

Deep conversations ๐Ÿ—ฃ with close friends ๐Ÿ‘ฅ

My perfect nephew ๐Ÿ‘ถ๐Ÿผ

Learning something new about science ๐Ÿงฌ

Comfy pajamas โœ”๏ธ

Jeans that fit just right ๐Ÿ‘–

Frantically writing โœ๐Ÿป getting ideas๐Ÿ’ก on paper

Pride ๐Ÿณ๏ธโ€๐ŸŒˆ for whatever I am

Connecting w people I love on social media ๐Ÿ’ป๐Ÿ“ฑ

Self-care ๐Ÿ•ฏ ๐Ÿงผ๐Ÿ›๐Ÿง–๐Ÿปโ€โ™€๏ธ

Really appreciating stars ๐ŸŒŸ in the night sky ๐ŸŒŒ

Good fortune ๐Ÿ”ฎ

Getting into a video game ๐ŸŽฎ (or watching one)

Shopping sprees! ๐Ÿ›

Fall ๐Ÿ๐Ÿ‚๐ŸŒพ๐ŸŒผ bonfires ๐Ÿ”ฅ

Achieving something to be proud of ๐ŸŽ“

A big paycheck ๐Ÿ’ต

Late night car rides๐Ÿš™ with Andrew๐Ÿฅฐ singing๐ŸŽถ

Funny memes ๐Ÿ˜‚

The incredibleee excitement the night before a Disney trip ๐Ÿ”œ

Waking up on Christmas morning ๐ŸŽ„๐ŸŽ

Feeling lucky ๐Ÿ€

Winning something ๐ŸŽฐ

Classical music that brings back memories ๐ŸŽป

When things fit together perfectly ๐Ÿ”

Making art ๐Ÿ‘ฉ๐Ÿปโ€๐ŸŽจ๐Ÿ–๐Ÿ–Œ๐Ÿ–Š

Appreciating all the worldโ€™s differences ๐Ÿ—บ

Becoming the best version of me ๐Ÿ†

Learning ๐Ÿ‘ฉ๐Ÿปโ€๐ŸŽ“

Books ๐Ÿ“– & how so many of them exist๐Ÿ“š

Making wishes ๐Ÿงžโ€โ™€๏ธ๐Ÿงžโ€โ™‚๏ธโœจ

Things that comfort me ๐Ÿงธ ๐Ÿ˜ (my stuffed elly!)

My favorite perfume ๐Ÿฅฐ

The first snow โ›„๏ธ of the season ๐Ÿ—“ [peaceful!]

Singing in the rain โ˜”๏ธ

Checking something off my to do list โ˜‘๏ธ

Tattoos ๐ŸŒ€

Ice cream (size congruent with my mood) ๐Ÿฆ

Parties ๐Ÿฅณ

Quiet mornings ๐Ÿ”‡

Crocheting someone a hat ๐Ÿงถ

Ska shows ๐Ÿ

Facing fears ๐Ÿ•ธ

My infinite internal power โ™พ ๐Ÿ’ฅ

The journey ๐Ÿ›ค

Climbing into bed feeling accomplished after a long day ๐Ÿ›

A new haircut (or color!) ๐Ÿ†•๐Ÿ‘ฑ๐Ÿปโ€โ™€๏ธ๐Ÿ’™

Reliving memories ๐Ÿ’ญ / looking through keepsakes ๐ŸŽŸ๐ŸŽซ

Being the perfect amount of energetic๐Ÿ”‹

Finding light in the darkness ๐Ÿ”ฆ

When good things fall apart but better things fall together ๐Ÿ’”โžก๏ธโค๏ธ

Counting down on New Yearโ€™s Eve just like the entire rest of the world ๐ŸŽ†๐ŸŽ‡

Making someone proud (even if itโ€™s myself)โ˜บ๏ธ

Late night adventures ๐ŸŒ™

The fact that I kicked the fucking shit out of anorexia once and I can fucking do it again ๐Ÿฝ

Laura’s Corner of Good

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My brother-in-law texted me last night with this idea, and after thinking about it, I decided to do what he suggested.ย  There really is too much of the bad, too much bullshit, too much negative.ย  So I’m gonna try to make a list of good things weekly, kind of a regular thing, just to brighten my outlook and hopefully the outlook of anyone reading this.ย  They say when you notice the good, you attract it to you.ย  Let’s give it a try.

Andddd without further ado:

1. There are so many books out there to read, so many adventures to go on as you dive into a story, so many lives to live, so much to learn, so much to feel.ย  It’s unending.ย  It’s expansive.ย  It’s a gift.

2. There’s still so much left to WRITE!ย  There’s a whole world out there to document, countless experiences to make real via words on a page.ย  Writing is what we do to taste life twice or thrice, to revisit feelings and events and conversations whenever we want.ย  We can dive back into our memories.ย  Or we can create new worlds if we want.ย  We can do the impossible.ย  Writing is freedom, and it is ours and always will be.

3. And if that’s not for you, there are other types of good in this world that we only have to take time to notice.ย  Things to appreciate.ย  The smell of green grass, freshly cut, on a summer morning.ย  Crickets making music as you fall asleep on summer nights.ย  The dark night sky giving way to vibrant purples and oranges until it seamlessly fades into the pastels that turn into clear blue skies and sunny days.ย  Sipping a cup of coffee in reverberating morning silence.ย  The way the colors change as the seasons change, the artistic beauty of life at its finest.ย  A fuzzy blanket on a cold winter evening.ย  The quiet of the first snowfall of the season.

4. Kindness is stronger than hate.ย  And although it might seem like hate is more, uh, prevalent, it’s only because you don’t have to look as hard for it.ย  Hatred is more shocking, more concerning, more news-worthy.ย  But kindness is always there underneath the surface.ย  That’s why people are all so disgusted by the world and what it’s presumably becoming.ย  We have to know deep down that kindness exists.ย  Because it sure as hell does.

5. Loyal dogs that give us unconditional love.

6. Technology has progressed enough to give us the comforts of life we currently enjoy.ย  We can communicate with people all over the world via the internet, and yeah that’s an overused statement about what it has done for us, but if you really think about that it boggles the mind.ย  It’s also pretty amazing that I can text end my boyfriend memes even when he’s five feet from where I’m sitting.ย  We have access to all the knowledge accumulated from basically ever.ย  And like, we have cars and planes, we have washing machines and dryers, we have modern medicine, we have hair straighteners, we can watch TV because its a thing that exists.ย  It’s all phenomenal.

I’m definitely being vaguer than my bro intended, but it’s a good start to something I need to think about more deeply.ย  So yeah.ย  Good things that I appreciate ^

Bipolar and the senses

So last year, or maybe it was two years ago, I was sitting cross-legged on my bed, laptop propped up against a pillow, listening to Duel of the Fates from the Star Wars prequels on repeat. I remember it rather vividly. Iโ€™d had a huge mental breakdown the night before, where my then best friend and soon-to-be-boyfriend drove me until one in the morning as we listened to music and I alternated between crying and singing along to the loud punk rock hitting me in waves out of the speakers. I was home from work, having called out by leaving a frantic voicemail detailing how I was insane and the thought of coming in to work made me want to die. So appropriate, I know. But there I was, sitting there trying to hold on to some semblance of calm, the vague, fleeting feeling that came and went throughout that entire day. I hadnโ€™t eaten. Iโ€™d barely had any water. I was just existing, trying to write just to be doing something, thinking about something. Not one of my better moments.

And here I am now. That same Star Wars song on repeat. And itโ€™s weird because I can taste the insanity of my past. I taste the feeling of hunger, acerbic in my mouth, just like I tasted two years ago. I can feel my insides grabbing for what little bit of calm it can grab. The memory of the thoughts I thought are echoing through my head, bouncing off the walls of my mind like that someone slammed a super ball as hard as they could in a gymnasium, the ball going going going with seemingly endless momentum. Or maybe itโ€™s more like a balloon flying every which way after someone untied it and let it loose. The point is that Iโ€™m there again. Iโ€™m sitting on my bed, legs crossed, laptop in front of me, fingers flying frantically over my keyboard just because. Iโ€™m there again. Because of this song Iโ€™ve got on repeat.

Itโ€™s weird how that happens. The taste of my gummy melatonin does the same thing. That strawberry-esque flavor melting in my mouth, even now, transports me back to the nights I was plagued with what Iโ€™ll call violent, agitated insomnia.

On the flip side, I have this one roll-on perfume that calms me down. I always put it on before therapy and now when I roll it on before work, I smell the panic going the fuck away and my chest easing up. I feel full, deep breaths steadying my heart rate as I take actual air into my lungs (as much as Iโ€™m able to, at least).

I have an elephant stuffed animal that I hug close to me when I sleep at night. And I have a mini keychain with the same elephant on it. And I make a point to take out that little keychain and rub the elephantโ€™s ears when I start to lose my cool, when I feel the anxiety bubbling up from my stomach all the way up my esophagus and ultimately reaching my head, dizziness ensuing.

And lastly, Iโ€™m comforted in the best way possible when someone I love wraps me in a protective hug, sending love vibrations into my being with the pressure they put on me, squeezing my broken pieces together with a strength that can only come from true care and concern.

Itโ€™s amazing how this shit works. What our sense can do for us.

An unfinished piece about change…

A change is gonna come

There is a vague dotted line connecting what was, what is, and what will be. This is a constant and inescapable truth. The line isnโ€™t always straight. In fact, there are probably times when the dots are few and far between, and you can scarcely follow their path. Furthermore, the transitions between past, present, and future arenโ€™t always balanced on either side of the decisions that lead from one to the other. It doesnโ€™t happen seamlessly, yet the metamorphosis happens nonetheless. Change is gonna come because thatโ€™s what it does. Change is gonna come.

Sometimes change is exactly what we need; meeting new people, exploring new places, a different routine, a different set of opportunities, it is often the solution that we know exists and we know we can make possible. But the onward march of time and the changes that it brings donโ€™t always come without fear and doubt. Stasis, more time than not, feels safer, and comfort or contentment or nostalgia pull us into its depths. It happens. And it is a trap.

Because what once was has already given way to what is. Progress has already been made. And weโ€™re here having survived, still breathing, still going. Weโ€™ve climbed the mountains and looked back on mere hills. Weโ€™ve crossed oceans and remember only nonthreatening lakes. Itโ€™s easier when itโ€™s said and done, of course, but once itโ€™s done Iโ€™ll bet you anything we rarely ever regret it. So canโ€™t we apply this logic to our futures? What exactly is preventing us from diving into the next unknown, throwing apprehension behind us and heading straight into possibilities?

I know. Accepting change is fucking hard. I also know it is our only option when it comes to lifeโ€™s one given.

Morning Affirmations

The sky woke up with a dull, gray covering this morning. And although I usually prefer when dawn chases the night away, forcing it to retreat while purples become pinks become oranges, Iโ€™m trying to view this rainy, stormy day as a potential adventure. The heavens are open, life-giving water is pouring into the earth, and the sound of rolling thunder is somehow calming. Iโ€™m at my favorite coffee shop. The meditative, chattering background noise along with the raindrops pitter-pattering against the large window in front of me soothes my mind โ€”which is fairly quiet this morning compared to a typical day in my life. Iโ€™m taking slow, full breaths, inhaling the deep aroma of freshly brewed coffee and positivity. Exhaling thoughts of todayโ€™s potential chaos. My insides are expanding to allow space for observation; today I will watch my emotions flow back and forth, melting into one another, as an impartial judge. I refuse to contract, to fold into myself. I refuse to decrease in size, to shrivel into fear, to let myself tighten when I neednโ€™t let myself tighten. I am vast and all-encompassing. I greet this day with a curious disposition. And as I sit here in contemplative stillness as the world and I wake up, gaining conscious preparedness, following the tried-and-true routines that keep us safely secured amid the rush of life, I know I can retain the cozy comfort of this rainy, stormy morning.

โ€œWeโ€™re only given one spark of madness.โ€

I have this hooded denim vest that I stick all my pins and patches on. Itโ€™s fun to wear because itโ€™s fun and colorful, and overall just an outward expression of who I am, how I feel in the inside. My favorite pin on there, as of lately, is an orange one with a Robin Williams quote: โ€œYou are only given one tiny spark of madness. You mustnโ€™t lose it.โ€ Iโ€™ve thought a lot about those words lately.

Madness is something I know well. I know it may sound like a subjective thing, madness. Whoโ€™s to say what makes a person mad? What are the qualifications? Whoโ€™s a typical example of madness, who can we base our judgment off of? I know personally, I feel Iโ€™m mad because my ridiculously extreme mood fluctuations and my tenuous grip on my sanity makes me act in an over-the-top, out of control way. So like, Iโ€™m pretty sure I know madness in the way Robin Williams meant it. I know how he must have felt as he said those words. He was known to have suffered from depression, and unfortunately lost his battle against it.

But taking the definition of madness and putting it aside, what the comedian was saying is that madness is a gift. It doesnโ€™t have to be veiled in darkness, the word doesnโ€™t have to hold a negative connotation.

I agree to an extent. My insanity can certainly be a gift (although that might be a fairly magnanimous way to view it). Itโ€™s given me many wonderful things: my creativity, my capability to show empathy, my motivation, my passionate personality. Maybe neither the bad or the good outweighs the other, maybe comparing the benefits and disadvantages of being crazy is like comparing two totally unrelated things. But what I know for sure is I wouldnโ€™t change who I am, madness and all, even if I could. I simply wouldnโ€™t want to. I wouldnโ€™t want to risk losing the good, despite all of the bad.

Because as much as it sucks, my bipolar makes me see things differently. I see the world and all that it encompasses in a unique way. Itโ€™s not always beautiful, but itโ€™s not always ugly. It is always my way, though. It is always true to me.

Again, it makes me creative, it helps me manipulate words, helps me bend them, helps me to warp their meaning by surrounding them with other words of varying meanings, all to get you to understand or allow you to escape or propel you into your own imagination. It makes me empathetic, allows me to understand the other human beings that walk this earth alongside me. It helps me connect to them in meaningful, beautiful ways. It drives me forward, and although my one-track mind isnโ€™t always ideal, the passion behind it is powerful and glorious.

This all brings me to the ever-popular question amongst those with my affliction: where does my bipolar stop and where do I start? If the qualities I value about myself are so inextricably linked to my disorder, then is my disorder the only thing I like about myself?

In terms of recovering from anorexia, it wasnโ€™t a matter of going back to who I was prior to diving into the depths of the disorder; rather, it was a matter of reinventing myself, new and while and happy, once the detrimental mental clutter was all cleared out. I couldnโ€™t go back to before (a literal child). I couldnโ€™t stay within it (utterly and painfully obsessed with food and calories and weight, chained to self-destruction). I had to decide who I wanted to be and be it.

Of course, deciding who I wanted to be wasnโ€™t easy. So many options, ya know? I wanted to be me. Just me. But I needed a clearer image of what โ€œjust meโ€ meant.

Bipolar is an entirely different animal. First of all, Iโ€™m stuck with it. It ainโ€™t goinโ€™ anywhere. Second, itโ€™s more of a personality trait thing than a behavior thing.

Not to mention how some people with bipolar experience periods of normal stability in between major episodes. Or so they say. Iโ€™ve heard that and read it a thousand times lately. But like, what does that mean for me?? What is normal? What is stable? What is an even keel? I feel like all of that alludes me, or maybe I just like to feel down on myself.

One spark. One glittering, luminous, dangerous, shocking spark. Thatโ€™s all we get in this life, and maybe if we were to let it fizzle out prematurely, weโ€™d regret it.

One spark of madness. One diagnosis. One chance to utilize what itโ€™s given me.

One chance to survive and thrive, to take the bullshit along with the best of it and make this thing work, because one day I may regret it if I donโ€™t.

The point Iโ€™m trying to make is that madness is not a punishment. I mustnโ€™t think of it in that way. I must open the madness up to the sparkling light, applying the benefits of it to my life. I think by understanding it in that way Iโ€™ll be better able to discern who I am.

Still some fight in me

My car has always been a sort of limbo;
I wait here, time passing.
I am not patient but still content
to stay here listening to classical music
(some of which I remember playing, years ago)
that reminds me I have a past
that was full of pain and torment but
also of
music and its reverberating explosions that send shockwaves of unimaginable hope through my being,
out my arteries, down through my fingertips,
and carried back to my heart with triumph.
I cannot always hang tight into that hope
(I donโ€™t know anyone who has a right to blame me).
I cannot always see a way to weather the storms
(that come fast and hard, quicker than ever now, gaining intensity and ferocity)…but
I am intensity. I am ferocity.
I cannot always know this, see this, understand this, feel this.
But it doesnโ€™t change that I am.
So I sit in limbo. Waiting, time passing…
Minutes march on,
thank some sort of god that they do,
and Iโ€™m surviving
(though not always actively).
How often have I sat here in the in-between?
Does it even matter?
Does anything?
I donโ€™t have to know.
Iโ€™m wearing makeup and earrings
and a shirt that says โ€œhello sunshine;โ€
I clearly have some sort of fight left in me.

A poem about my daily life that ends far too optimistically, but whatever…

She woke before seven, excitement abundant, still groggy but ready to thrive.
She sprang out of bed (or did something like that); it was morning and she was alive!

With a handful of pills and a few sips of water, she began with a plea to stay stable.
Then came washing and dressing, while counting each blessing…the gratitude made her feel able.

The birds started chirping, the world started waking, the sun started brightening the sky.
The quiet was punctured, (perhaps that was better), and then the thoughts started to fly…

With resolve she stayed focused on what she thought mattered: the good that this new day would bring.
Because in only one hour, or probably less, she had felt her moods climb, fall, and swing.

“Come ON,โ€ she thought loudly above all the chaos, โ€œyou got this, just sit and calm down!โ€
But would sitting there help when annoyance was rising and rage on her face put a frown?

The always-there need to be NOT sitting still then took over. She got in her car.
She wanted to drive fast, away from confusion, away, anywhere, near or far.

She wound up (surprise!) at the cafe in town, as if the paths toward it were paved.
And soon coffee was brewing, her passion renewing. Just maybe the day could be saved.

For her mug full of love was symbolic of passion and all the excitement it brings.
With sugar and milk added for extra goodness, the winter outside became spring!

โ€œAlright,โ€ went her brain-talk, โ€œyou know now youโ€™re able to change your emotional state.โ€
Deep inside, though, she knew her bipolar disorder would get her, would always checkmate.

What was she to do, this mess of a human, when life brings such her up, down, and up?
She takes all the meds and she thinks the right things, she forever fills her coffee cup.

Though the grand fluctuations are now less intense, though the coaster-ride invokes less fear,
The daily uncertainty, constant unsureness, make it hard to know โ€˜normalโ€™ is near.

Yet for all she knows, โ€˜normalโ€™ is just as dramatic, confusing, and full of such flux.
So honestly, why should she bother? She shouldnโ€™t! She shouldnโ€™t give so many fucks.

Now tomorrow is dawning, itโ€™s come to forgive her, to show her a new chance to live.
And yes it will test her, and also will bless her, will prove to the girl it can give.

Because that is tomorrow and that is the next day, thatโ€™s life in a nutshell, you see.
The crazyโ€™s expected, can even be fun, once you realize this you can be free.

What Brings Me Down vs What Fills Me Up

I am 20 years old. I am walking around Stony Brook University, meandering through the buildings, wandering aimlessly across the expansive campus in the pouring rain. Iโ€™m drenched from my hair in its high ponytail right down to my purple plaid converse sneakers, but I keep walking. I could be in class; I should be in class. But my body wouldnโ€™t carry me into the lecture hall even if I wanted it to. The rain is disguising my tear-streaked face, hiding the fact that Iโ€™m quietly sobbing. I look down at the concrete as I walk, and it occurs to me to pull my hood over my head. It wonโ€™t prevent the rain from soaking me further, but it hides me better at least. Not that anyone would notice me anyway. Itโ€™s simply that the hood hides me in a more metaphorical sense, shields me from the reality of the world outside my head in an ambiguously emotional way. Thereโ€™s a song playing on repeat in the distance, no wait, itโ€™s coming from my headphones, the headphones planted securely over my ears. The punk rock band shout-sings lyrics to me and for me through fast-paced drumming and heavy guitar music: โ€œwhy does the world as I know it keep on bringing me down?!โ€

I find myself in the campus bookstore talking to the manager. Sheโ€™s a woman about my motherโ€™s age. Sheโ€™s friendly and she always remembers me. She speaks words of comfort that land far away from me but still close enough for me to consider. โ€œWhy donโ€™t you withdraw from this semester? Come back when youโ€™re feeling better, more secure. What do you think?โ€

It takes a while for the idea to solidify in my head. I can withdraw. I know Iโ€™d fail if I stay. The knowledge cuts me deeply, slicing through the facade, ripping through the mask of my former self, the mask of a high-functioning perfectionist. I am left with my current self: a confused failure, a bitterly struggling mess, a girl whose desperate attempt at being a regular college student has just been shattered into a billion pieces.

I leave the bookstore and trudge away towards my car, and once I get there and slump into the driverโ€™s seat, I turn my music on again at full volume, the band once again asking me what itโ€™s asked me over and over again today: why does the world as I know it keep on bringing me down?

*

I am 27 years old. I am driving east on the parkway, not necessarily speeding but going fast enough that I can pretend my anxiety wonโ€™t be able to catch up to me. I know itโ€™ll get me eventually, catch me by the throat and squeeze the breath out of me before settling in my chest for its stay. But I allow myself the fantasy of escaping it as I fly free down the Southern State. I just have to keep going, keep doing, keep moving. The faster the better.

I left therapy a few minutes earlier. The office had been bright even without the lights on, with the better part of the back wall a window overlooking the parking lot. Weโ€™d been talking about the usual: the way my bipolar disorder seemed to be a cloud casting a shadow on nearly every aspect of my life, obscuring the meaning of it all, eclipsing my sense of what to do to extricate myself from such a situation. I was sick of it, I had no more energy for it. It seemed, at that moment and quite honestly all other moments of recent life, that picking myself up from the depths would be pointless; Iโ€™d be dragged back down, probably shortly afterward, anyway. The control I so desperately seek out was too far out of reach. It wasnโ€™t worth it.

Thus Iโ€™d been tasked with figuring out the particulars in terms of what actually brings me down, and conversely, what fills me up.

โ€œChange the script in your head,โ€ I was told. โ€œThink about what makes you tick and about what fills you up with that good goo.โ€

Apparently, I am able to reclaim my moods as my own and combat the suffocating anxiety. I wanted so much to dispute that fact, to lend the negative arguments in my head a voice, and my eyes instinctively lept to the window as the doubts started to crawl their way towards me like the living dead. But my gaze found its way back to my therapist sitting across from me. Her confidence flickered through me. I kept my mouth shut. It couldnโ€™t hurt to entertain the idea. All I had to do was think about what upsets me and what makes me happy. Basic stuff. Shouldnโ€™t be too hard, right?

So here I am. Driving. Thinking about what upsets me and what makes me happy.

Well, for starters, these fuckers who donโ€™t know how to DRIVE upset me. Get the FUCK out of my WAY! But weโ€™ve talked about that before. Other drivers represent a lack of control, which is fairly consistently the larger issue when I get worked up. Another example would be when technology doesnโ€™t just WORK. When the wifi sucks, when my laptop freezes. It should just work, things should just work, why donโ€™t things just WORK? The reasoning there is that my life is already difficult enough without things always going wrong. I donโ€™t need minor, insignificant things putting me over the edge. If two elephants of equal weight are sitting on a seesaw, the seesaw doesnโ€™t move. When a fly lands on one of the elephants, it makes one side of the seesaw heavier. And in my illogical corner of the world, that fly might as well have weighed a ton, because the seesaw is uneven and now Iโ€™m off balance and everything is ruined and wrong and Iโ€™m anxious and I hate everything. Also known as: Laura isnโ€™t in control of the situation. If I canโ€™t control the idiot drivers, and I canโ€™t control the god damned wifi, what else might be out of my control? It isnโ€™t the other drivers, it isnโ€™t the god damned wifi, itโ€™s what all those bullshit things represent in the bigger picture! Things could easily, so very easily, spin into chaos. The world may very well fly out of the sunโ€™s gravitation, or at least thatโ€™s how it feels, because my GOD do things spiral quickly! And the worst of it is that certainty really doesnโ€™t seem like too much to ask. Itโ€™s just that life and the universe and my fucking bipolar disorder are always shifting and changing, always moving faster than I can ever hope to. Certainty is a joke, and a cruel one at that.

As if on cue, iTunes shuffles to a familiar song that brings me back seven years. Suddenly I am 20 years old, wet and cold and scared of the fact that so much has gone wrong and I donโ€™t know how to fix it. So much has changed since that rainy October day, but Iโ€™m still scared. I sing out loud with the song and wonder, โ€œwhy does the world as I know it keep on bringing me down?โ€

Because thatโ€™s really what it feels like –that the world itself is out to get me, that the world is trying as hard as it can to bring me down. But I assume the purpose of trying to determine what upsets me isnโ€™t to give me something negative to dwell upon. I assume Iโ€™m supposed to focus more on the things that fill me up. And I assume that putting the two next to each other is supposed to teach me some sort of self-reflective lesson about positive self-talk and what it can do for me.

Okay. Positives, positives, letโ€™s think of some positives. What makes me happy? Is it just me, or does this one seem harder than the last one?

But it hits me that Iโ€™ve thought about this before. Iโ€™d written about it, years ago. Could it have been after I withdrew from that semester back in 2012? I remember sitting cross-legged on my bed, my laptop propped up on my pillow as my fingers tap-tap-tapped across my keyboard without stopping for hours. It must have been late; insomnia had dug its claws into me, but I didnโ€™t have to wake up to get to class, so I stared at my computer screen until I couldnโ€™t possibly stare any longer, until the words had all been propelled from mind to page. I wrote about the little things in life, the small symbols of joy, the smile-bringers. I wrote about those moments of meaningful exhilaration that cast the meaningless days before it in the golden light of purpose. I wrote from my heart because everything else in me was exhausted with the ups and the downs and the frenzied anxiety and the cyclic upheavals and everything else. My body, my brain, my soul was exhausted. But my heart still found its way to the good.

I remember exactly where I saved that piece. I drive home and only need to search a minute or two before I find the flash drive, jam it into my laptop, and once agian sit cross-legged on my bed to devour my words of years pastโ€ฆ

*

Waking up before dawn for no reason, but not going back to sleep. Being the only one awake to hear the reverberating silence be punctuated by the birds beginning to chirp in sweet harmonies. Watching the daylight edge ever so slowly towards the darkness, until finally, the morning erupts into being with fragrant hope. Feeling the peaceful intensity of truly appreciating the gift of a new day.

The smell of spring.

When the lights go out because of a storm so youโ€™re stuck inside counting the seconds between the flash of lightning and the clap of thunder. Listening to the storm move progressively closer, the pitterpatter of raindrops grow steadily heavier, until it runs its course and retreats, the hypnotizing sounds easing to a stop. Walking outside and feeling the heavy dampness of the renewed earth.

Seeing a rainbow arc across the sky.

Laughing uncontrollably with friends, so hard that youโ€™re in tears, gasping for breath because you canโ€™t stop cracking up long enough to inhale fully. Calming down for a few seconds only to start all over again a few seconds later.

When the days get longer, the mornings get brighter, and the weather gets warmer. When summer announced itself in a blaze of freedom and excitement. When the beach invites you to relax on its shores and you arrive with a towel, a book, and some pink lemonade. When you arrive at the bar and meet all your friends for a night of karaoke and deep conversations and maybe even alcohol. When youโ€™re having fun around the clock, and the days melt happily into the next, and your happiness feels eternal and safe.

A blank notebook begging to be filled with ideas and stories and poems and drawings and anecdotes about adventures. An open document, a blank slate waiting to have meaning. A new box of markers, a sharpened pencil, books full of stickers. Creativity waiting to happen. The sheer amount of potential ways to express it.

Looks of encouragement when you donโ€™t think you can possibly go on.

Text messages of all kinds: friends saying โ€œgood morning,โ€ groups making plans, catching up with someone you havenโ€™t seen in a while. The magic of being able to communicate with loved ones with such ease. Texts that make you smile, texts that serve as reminders of how loved you are. The kind that you screenshot and save and look at again and again.

Relatable quotes.

Disney World vacations. Going home to the Happiest Place On Earth. The butterflies you get when you walk around the corner, down Main Street, and see the awe-inspiring view of Cinderella Castle. Riding rides, meeting characters, watching shows and parades and entertainment, all the the same exhilaration youโ€™ve always felt while there in sunny Florida. Being a hopeful youth again, finally remembering what that feels like. Having no cares. Making memories. The emotions youโ€™re filled with when you see the fireworks explode gloriously above your head.

Dogs.

When someone gets your quirks and unique assets perfectly.

The few seconds of anticipation at the very top of a roller coaster, when you know youโ€™re about to go over the edge. When you realize just how high up you are, and youโ€™re flooded with a mixture of nerves and excitement. Then the rush of wind blows back your hair and your stomach flips as you rocket towards the ground. The way you involuntarily throw your hands up, screaming and laughing because thereโ€™s nothing on your mind except the next drop.

When someone says โ€œthis reminded me of you.โ€ Getting noticed, being appreciated, feeling loved.

The crispy smell of fall. Pumpkin coffee and apple pies. Scarves and boots and a light leather jacket. The possibility of hay rides and corn mazes and haunted houses. The colors of the changing leaves.

Being the reason someone smiles or laughs.

The first cup of coffee in the morning. Inhaling the smell of it and exhaling whatever nonsense is attempting to take up space in your mind. Sitting quietly as you drink it, enjoying the flavor, savoring every sip. Then easing into your day feeling energized and excited and filled with ideas and intentions.

Crossing bullet point after bullet point off your to-do list. Collapsing into bed after a long, productive day. Feeling good about your accomplishments. Being proud of yourself and what youโ€™ve achieved.

Snow days where you sip hot chocolate under a blanket as the crystalline flakes continue to fall peacefully outside. Having no place to go and nothing in particular to do. Relaxing, truly relaxing.

A good book.

Deep, emotional conversations with friends. Important conversations. Ones where you talk about everything from philosophical concepts to feelings about life and love, to things from the past and plans for the future, to the craziest and most random things in the world. Getting to know someone you love on another level of intimacy, feeling closer and more connected to them.

Waking up on Christmas morning. Experiencing unparalleled excitement, the same exact excitement you felt as a five-year-old. Christmas breakfast, Christmas presents, Christmas traditions. Giving gifts to friends and family, exchanging them in the spirit of the holiday.

Big hugs that last for a long time, with a squeeze at the end to get out the extra love.

Counting backward from ten on New Yearโ€™s Eve after having an awesome night. The way everyone, everywhere shouts โ€œHappy New Year!โ€ in unison. The promise of new opportunities on the horizon. The way we begin each year by hugging and kissing the people we care about.

*

I take in my words, let them absorb into my mind. Try to reconcile the positivity with the foul, negative lump sitting undigested in my gut.

I get it. I get what past-Laura was trying to convey, I get why my therapist wanted me to focus on the good, the tremendous potential for good that this world brings. Yes, the little things matter more, sometimes. And no, life doesnโ€™t have to be perfect all the time to be beautiful. I realize that I am capable of changing what I see around me by simply viewing it all through the lenses of hope and optimism.

I still have that damn song ringing in my ears, though. โ€œNo matter how hard that I try to climb Iโ€™ll be pulled back down again…why does the world as I know itโ€ฆโ€

I guess thatโ€™s the point, though. I have to keep climbing up because thatโ€™s really the only thing there is to do. I guess I will reluctantly agree to continue doing that. Iโ€™ll agree to pick myself up after every fall, even if the chaos sweeps through again and again in startlingly rapid succession. Okay, fine. There. I get it. I don’t understand it, but I donโ€™t have to, because I get it.

The world keeps on bringing me down because thatโ€™s what it does. Iโ€™m gonna keep on climbing back up. And no matter how annoyed I am about having to do it, Iโ€™m still gonna keep doing it.

 

Fuck bipolar.

How do you expel sadness? How do you chase it away? How do you take the sadness that has crept into your being and, graciously or not, show it to the exit? How do you repair the wall that sadness tore down, and how do you ready yourself for its next intrusion? How do you heal from the hurt left in its wake?

Any number of analogies would work beautifully here. Countless metaphors would suffice, and goodness knows Iโ€™d love to sit here and type them all out in long, eloquently phrased paragraphs. But ambiguous words donโ€™t exactly help me solve the issue at hand so much as explain it. And fluffy descriptions and fancy words simply wonโ€™t help; Iโ€™d much prefer concrete and definite instructions to vague, unreachable concepts.

So how can I explain to you the ways in which you may hope to overcome the sadness? How can I help you to tear yourself free from the vice-like grip of internal desolation?

Sadness is a poison and I know an antidote exists. The problem is Iโ€™m well-versed in what the former entails but Iโ€™m not so clear on the latter. I long for a manual, a set of instructions that can serve as a guide. I doubt there is one. I am left to write the directions on my own, to learn the steps through my own efforts and energy. I only wonder if I can.

Iโ€™ve tried to do it before. Trust me when I tell you Iโ€™ve given it a Godโ€™s honest attempt. And of course I have, how could I not, having been through the ringer. Iโ€™ve seen hell, countless times. You donโ€™t think Iโ€™ve scrambled to make a mental note about how I got my hands on the rope I used climb back out? To write down exactly how I survived? And furthermore, to figure out why? Believe me when I explain that Iโ€™ve given it my all to figure it out!

In my darkest days, when waves of depression were crashing into me, the riptide pulling me hard and fast away from the comforts of sanity at the shoreline, I tumbled with the current and couldnโ€™t find my footing, but eventually caught my breath and treaded water and surfed my way back to shallower depths. Iโ€™ve been sucked back into the ocean many times over again, finding it rougher each successive time. I am afraid of it. Bodies of water represent the terrifying repetition (the tide comes in, the ride retreats, it repeats continuously). I am afraid. But that doesnโ€™t stop me from going to the beach. I have never let it stop me from going to the beach.

I guess thatโ€™s the first step, then? Resilience? Weโ€™ve got no choice but to get back up, time after time. It sucks, and you may get dragged for miles, but eventually you get back up. As long as youโ€™re taking air into your lungs, you still have time to do so. And since youโ€™ve gotta get up eventually, thereโ€™s no harm in doing so with as much hope and optimism as you can muster.

Then a few steps away, somewhere down the staircase is another critical issue: the self-talk, the internal monologue, the script forever running on and on in your head. Youโ€™ve certainly heard it before that your thoughts become your reality, that you attract what you think about. Youโ€™ve gotta make your head a positive place to be because youโ€™re there all the time. Youโ€™re literally never fully away from it. So choose wisely the words that you say to yourself. Pick each idea carefully, and pluck from your consciousness the ones that donโ€™t promote happiness, the beliefs and perceptions and opinions that donโ€™t serve a valuable purpose. Weed out the dead flowers, filter the muddy waters. Affirm the fact that youโ€™ll be okay, youโ€™ll always end up being okay. Even if you arenโ€™t right now, you will be eventually because thatโ€™s the way it works. Collect the inspirational quotes, litter your life with positivity. Surround yourself with it; you might as well.

The next step is just as cliched, if not more. But it helps, so youโ€™d better get going on that self-care. Images of bubbles baths come immediately to my mind. The kind where bath bombs have colored the water and candles are lit around the edges. Face masks and body scrubs and special conditioners, all of this seems to be whatโ€™s marketed as the prime examples of taking time for yourself. And I value such things for what they are and what they do. But caring for yourself spans a wide array of actions, all of which are supposed to help you meet the needs you might have been neglecting in a calm and relaxed way. This could mean taking a walk outside in the sunshine. Or making yourself a healthy meal. Or meditating on things youโ€™re grateful for while focusing on steadying your breathing. It could mean treating yourself to that overpriced coffee, coloring mindlessly, or just taking a nap when you need one. But whatever it is for you, youโ€™ve gotta do it.

Continuing along the staircase away from melancholy brings you to distraction. Keeping your mind busy is an indispensable means of taking sadness by the collar and kicking it to the curb. Channel the bad feelings polluting you, put them into something positive and productive and helpful. Donโ€™t think about anything but what youโ€™re doing. Focus, consciously. Give it effort, and work hard, and reap the benefits.

Letโ€™s never forget to reach out for help, either. Get that support, surround yourself with love, jump into all that is happy and positive. You are enclosed in a semi-permeable membrane, the fact that sadness has entered is a testament to that. So itโ€™s logical to marinate in the good, the beautiful, the special. If you donโ€™t, how do you expect to let it seep in? Utilize your loved ones for they are all around you. They choose to be a part of your life for a reason. They are prime examples of tools that can help. And if they cannot do the trick alone, there are other minds that may hold an answer. But itโ€™s all dependent on you seeking the help. Ask for what you need. Ask for light and youโ€™ll soon find it shining on you.

if nothing else, you can wait it out. Youโ€™ve got more time than the sadness does, you are more expansive and contain more power. Within you is all that youโ€™ll ever need, in fact. Remember this truth while you stay where you are as the clock ticks you closer to freedom.

Through all of these steps, youโ€™ll surely gain some forms of protection for the future. Youโ€™ll learn from what youโ€™ve gone through, building upon a foundation of inner strength and using cumulative knowledge as material. Youโ€™ll make mental notes, write down how exactly you survived. Youโ€™ll do this subconsciously as apparently I have done, and think that maybe all of this is easier than it seems.

You wanted to know how to push away sadness. You asked me how it is actually done. It turns out I knew more than I gave myself credit for, so Iโ€™ve tried here to answer your question in earnest, but the truth is Iโ€™m still not quite certain. The process Iโ€™m describing might just have to be trial and error. Or maybe you just have to do what you can with what you have until the sadness gets bored and vacates the premises of your mind and body.

Either way, I hope you find metaphors that apply to your journey. I hope you can explain your plight and triumph with fluffy, fancy descriptions. And I hope the ambiguous collection of words that donโ€™t exactly solve anything help you, at the very least, to find meaning.