Manic Monday Thru Sunday

I think I might be bipolar.  Or, at least, I feel a little bit like I'm on a roller coaster right now.

The good news is that I'm not sad every. single. day. 

The slightly weird news is that I'm finding myself manically making massive, multi-stepped life goals for myself.  And doing impulsive things.

In the last week, I bought tickets to a Queen concert, registered for a 5 km race, wrote an outline for a series of semi-autobiographical short stories, and spent a small fortune on lacy underwear.  Because it makes me feel good.  I've planned and created itineraries for numerous adventure vacations that (since I'm much less concerned about buying a home in the next two years) I may one day be able to finance.  And then I discovered that I could trade my crappy phone in without a penalty fee six months before my contract is up.  I've been researching numerous apps like a champ to streamline my life and help me become the most awesome super-human in the district.

The bad news is that I'm not happy every single day either.  It is often difficult to see any reason to get out of bed beyond the fact that I'm probably not going to have crazy dreams while I'm awake (they are alternately hopeful and vengeful, but always crazy).  Being sad is exhausting.  And trying to be not sad is exhausting.  And being exhausted makes it really hard to follow through on any of my awesome multi-stepped life goals.

Somewhere on the internet or somewhere (or maybe I just dreamed it), is the exact representation of the cycle of my life the way I see it.  I am a phoenix rising triumphant from the ashes of its former self, soaring majestically, and then getting swallowed up by a jet engine.

I have come to terms with my present state of affairs.  The problem is that six months ago, I knew exactly where my life was going.  I knew, on my 30th birthday last November, that this was the decade in which many of the most exciting things in my life were going to happen so there was no reason to bemoan the fact that I was aging.  The only thing there was to be sad about was that I knew exactly how long I would have to wait for it.

Now I feel totally rudderless.  Which is probably why when I have a sudden burst of energy, I'm making all kind of plans for my personal awesomeness.  So that I feel like I'm going in a direction.  Any direction.

The other good news is that I feel like I'm better at coping now. 

In my adult life, I've almost always felt that statements of affirmation were for the truly desperate and gullible.  Recently, though, I've found that a daily browse of the "quotes" section on Pinterest pumps me up sufficiently to get through, though I do have to be selective so that I'm not focusing on the quotes declaring undying hopeless love to some nameless other.  They don't help. 

I watch a lot of Netflix.  Watching Ted Mosby retell the story of how he met the mother of his children makes me feel less desperate and, to be truthful, a little bit hopeful. 

I put makeup on every day.  It started with the idea that I couldn't cry if I was wearing non-waterproof mascara.  Now it feels a little bit like part of my armour.

And finally, regular dance parties to this song.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cDqADZygseM
Because I've got sauce.  Somewhere in the back of the fridge.

Solitude is Normal.

I think it's incredibly cliché to feel afraid to be alone.  But here I am, living the night terror.  On Wednesday afternoon, I'm counting down the hours to Freedom Friday.  By Friday at noon, I feel like I'm staring down the barrel of a 48-hour shotgun.

This is not to say that I'm completely without activity or social engagement most weekends.  To say that would be lying.  I've generally got SOMETHING to do or SOMEWHERE to go.  But when I've got a stretch of several hours that I'm not spending in the company of others, I start to hyperventilate a little.

I'm really uncomfortable in my own company.  And that's a problem.

It's a problem because it suggests I'm using the fullness of my social calendar as a means of determining my self-worth.  On its face this makes some sense; if other people want to spend time with me, I must be pretty awesome.  But most people (normal people) actually want to be alone some of the time.  That means that sometimes they're not going to want to spend time with me.  And it doesn't actually mean they think I'm not awesome.  It just means they need some time to themselves.  Deep, in the centre of my mind (where the rational thought comes from), I know I'm setting myself up for failure in the feel-good department if I use the number of hours I'm not alone as a barometer for my personal awesomeness.

I'm quite sure I'm also using social interaction as a way of distracting myself from my grief.  This also makes some sense.  Reminding myself that I have a lot of cool shit going on in my life, beyond the relationship I was in, has definitely been very helpful in shooting some happiness into my emotional milieu to make the sadness a lot more manageable.  On the other hand, it's nobody's responsibility but mine to manage my sadness.  And if everyone else out there can manage the shitty stuff in their lives without a CONSTANT source of distraction, then perhaps I should be trying to work on that too.

Furthermore, sometimes I actually NEED to be alone.  I'm loathe to admit this to myself, but occasionally, my social calendar becomes so jam-packed that I start to freak out a little.  Like, I start to panic that I'm going to disappoint someone that I didn't make it to their event, or that I didn't have time to make sure I had clean socks and underwear to wear to their event because I was stacking my commitments so tightly.  I probably become a little withdrawn and even kind of cranky.  And then people definitely won't think I'm awesome.  Certainly, I don't think I'm awesome if I'm withdrawn and cranky (which is probably more important).

So obviously, I'm not saying that I'm putting an indefinite moratorium on social interaction beyond work.  That would be silly.  But I am saying that I probably need to be a little more comfortable with myself BY MYSELF if I want my mental health maintain a head-above-water position.

Which begs the question: If I'm not freaking out about having hours to spend with myself, what should I be doing with that time?  I've made a list of things that I'm doing in my alone time that are making me feel good.  So far, I'm trying to read more.  I buy books almost compulsively, but then don't have time to read them.  I'm trying to set that time aside now. 

I'm also trying to find ways to surround myself with positive affirmation and reminders of what makes me happy.  I'm working on my wall of awesome friends and memories:

 

And I'm working on this art project (work in progress).

 

 

And then there's the never-ending knitting pile.  I think it's a good thing to make it a goal to, one day, see the surface of this table.

But sometimes I'm stuck with hours and hours of me and eventually I'm going to run out of knitting (or, more likely, will develop carpal tunnel).  What else could I be doing to make the me time more comfortable?  Suggestions from helpful introverts welcome.