My depression, mania, and anxiety are never too far away, being bipolar and all. This is not a surprise to me, loyal reader, although the tricky little devils still have a tendency to sneak up on me when I think I’m sailing through life and jump out of the water to rock the boat. Anxiety, pictured above, is being particularly jerky this weekend.

Which makes it hard to write.

Which is exactly why I need to.

I’m still feeling a bit under the weather, even after taking a day off of work and sleeping probably a good half of the long-ass weekend. Of course, my crazy brain starts talking shit about how taking a day off from work is the worst possible thing one can do. People will die! Empires will crumble! Selfish, stupid, terrible, lazy Jady. Never mind the fact that I obviously needed the sleep and rest and medications with which working would be unwise. No, Jady took a day off and the world ended and it was her fault.

I wonder, ofttimes, why in all the great wonders of the universe, some people’s brains are hardwired to punish them for literally doing nothing wrong. I could ask myself over and over again, why do you have to be perfect, Jady? and why does accomplishment mean nothing so much as every miniscule failure? Why do you magnify everything you’re not doing perfectly, and minimize everything you do right? WHY. But asking doesn’t actually make me feel better, and never seems to evoke an original response, so I may as well accept my crazy darling brain and treat her kindly. Even when she’s being a big ol’ bully. Because kindness is something you don’t have to regret, even when you’ve spent it on a less-than-kind entity. At least you did your part.

I spent a large part of my life fighting my brain, self-medicating with ham-fisted inaccuracy, belittling myself and my thoughts, coping with bad relationships and codependency. I simply would not sit in my own distress, and I took every possible escape route one can imagine. It’s a wonder I didn’t cause myself more trauma than I’ve dealt with already, it’s a damn lucky thing that I’m not dead because of my ‘coping mechanisms’, in the past. I made myself several promises during my divorce, by the one I’m sticking to is that I will feel my feelings when they happen. No bottling, no shoving them under the bed. That’s how you get monsters, and skeletons. I will experience myself to the fullest that is healthy and manageable, and I will seek out respite in ways I won’t later regret.

So today, while I feel the Sunday Dread of another week approaching, with work from last week that I had to leave for a while to make myself physically healthy, I will sit in my anxiety. I will stay with it and not run away to some dark corner to lick my wounds. The only way to deal with a bully brain is to confront, accept, and love yourself. To hell with the weirdo chemicals that make me want to hide in bed for the winter, I am more than my anxiety, and yet my anxiety is a part of me and I love it. You don’t worry about things you don’t care about, so thank you, Anxiety, for reminding me that I love my job, and I care for my clients. Imagine me massaging away the claws in my temples, picture me hugging the arms that hold me to the couch. Try for a moment to believe that self love is stronger than self doubt.

Down to business: Update the budget excel spreadsheet, finish cleaning the house, put away the laundry, work on the lovely journal Sister gave me for Christmas, and go to bed early enough to wake up in time for a shower before work. Breathe, rest, relax. Try not to berate yourself for breathing, resting, and relaxing. Eat something tasty. Cuddle the pets.

Love who you are, not who you wish you would be.