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.
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