I'm not happy...

It's been some time since I've written, and dear me the changes that abound. I've officially taken steps into the adult world and found, dare I say it, my career. I have finally begun a job that I want to do for the rest of my days. It's funny to say, but even though I'm in a low swing and depressed and at most times close to tears, this is the happiest I have ever been in my life. No, the most content.

Being content is an interesting concept. We usually always talk of being happy, being frustrated, depressed, dissatisfied--but we never usually mention content. My life has seen an intense upheaval with many pitfalls of trial and error over the past six years. It has constantly changed and evolved and I have become someone I never knew would be possible. I never thought I would pine so much for the comfort of being content. The comfort of being still.

And here I am six years later with an eclectic little apartment that appropriately reflects my own eccentricities, with bills that I can afford to pay, a car I can rely on, pets that are well fed and taken care of, a partner who supports my every endeavor, two jobs instead of six--both in the literary field that I love, and over a 3.0 GPA. I have all of this and an amazing counselor to help me finally address my bipolar disorder, OCD, and psychosis. I am constantly pinching myself to make sure this is real.

My mood might be stuck on depressed at the moment, but I am a different level of happy; I am content.

A Day in the Life of Wonder Woman

     Being bipolar I occasionally have delusions, i.e. things that I see, hear, or feel, that aren't necessarily there. For example, when I am in a high and feel the need to be clean (Did I mention I have slight OCD as well that comes out in cleanliness and organization? No? Oh, well, I have slight OCD that mainly takes the form of a need for cleanliness and organization, among other things.), I see bugs. Everywhere. I don't mean horror movie style bugs crawling over everything while a 1950's housewife howls with fear, I mean in the corner of my eye I will see a few realistic bugs crawling/flying/spinning a web. Usually I can tell when these are delusions by the fact that my friends don't see them (when I ask them if they're there). When I can't tell, I clean more vigorously. Lately, thanks to the beauty of Trazadone, my highs and lows have been less intense, though I can still feel them, and these delusions don't happen as often.
     Instead, other forms of delusion have begun to take their place.
     I now have incredibly vivid dreams. I've always had my fair share of crazy dreams, but as of late they are an intensity even I had been unfamiliar with. If I dream about someone, they end up calling me within hours--usually in reference to what we were discussing in my dream. I'm beginning to feel like Karen from Mean Girls. I have ESPN.
     There are times when being bipolar can be very tiresome, aggravating, depressing, and downright a pain in the ass. But then there are other times when you almost feel like you've got a super power. This little secret gift that you have, bestowed on you as a gift for dealing with the inner workings of your brain every day of your life.
     Today, I am a super hero.

More Money, More Problems

If there is anything I have learned in this past month, it is this: I would much rather be poor and barely scraping by than to be working every hour of my life doing something that provides nothing but monetary gain. I may have seven or eight odd jobs at the moment, and I may not be getting paid for all of them, but I'll be damned if I don't enjoy each and every one of them. So I can't afford new things; I have my books, I have my animals, and I have the basic necessities of life.
What more does a girl really need?