Confessions of a Bipolar 30-Something

A Sounds of Self Blog Series

Once again I find myself pacing around the house in this state of mental paralyzation….

Paralyzation… is that even a real word? I have absolutely nothing to do, yet there is still this feeling inside of me of restlessness, telling me that there are a million other things I should be doing right now, even though my daughter is taken care of and my house is in order.

I can still feel the anxiety running through my body the way a raging white water rapid drudges everything in its path, splashing over the sides of the bank and tearing down tree limbs along its way.

I’m forgetting to do something…

The only thing I can really focus on is that in the center of all of this chaos running through my mind, while I’m pacing in perfect order (from the backdoor, through the living room, into my bedroom, down the hall to the dining room, turn around at the kitchen sink and back) is that I am holding a cigarette, and am absolutely overcome with delight that I’m not allowed to be smoking in the house!

Not since Morgan was born and my cigarettes, my perfect little puffs of release, became a nasty guilty indulgence, that I should be so ashamed of…. I love sneaky cigarette pacing time!

Fuck it, I guess I’ll do some dishes.