If there is one thing that I am horrible at, it’s setting limits for myself. Which is why I am sitting here debating whether or not to take a codeine; working all weekend on the basic functionality of The Bipolar Blogger Network mean that my shoulders and back are in quite a bit of agony from the hunching and the squinching and the squinting and the thinking too hard. It will be totally worth it when (when rather than if; let’s take a positive approach!) it takes off, and might help it move along that little bit faster. If something looks nice and basically works, that does make it more attractive.
I’m also currently wondering at the limits of this good mood period that I have been inhabiting. I’m doing my best to not sabotage it, and indeed, I realized in the past few days that its continuance can probably be strongly attributed to avoiding confrontation. I’m not confrontational, per se, but I have always been compulsed to correct and educate where possible. This isn’t exactly a low-stress deal; even if you work hard to sound nice and reasonable, there’s every chance someone or something will blow up in your face. So that I’ve been able to prevent myself from engaging in such behaviors, as hard as it has been, has almost become the norm. I’m sure that sounds kind of incomprehensible to some people, and that’s okay. I celebrate that they’re not having to suffer at the hands of their own mental traps in the same breath that I celebrate my progression towards potentially normalized stability. Having said that, I do have a large confrontation that I’m overdue to make, and I don’t relish the fall out. I cannot avoid it forever, so I can only hope that I can take advantage of the now to jot down my thoughts on said issue and make it go more smoothly from my end. I’m not terribly optimistic in that regard as I’ve been running contingencies and possible fragments through my head for months… and I want to call the person a sanctimonious jackass. *cough*
Ah well, even if I’m still not ‘good’ at setting limits, at least I’m not as bad as I used to be. Because of my (probable (not diagnosed)) endometriosis, I spent ages 13 to 28 with no energy. To keep myself vaguely awake and going, I had to keep doing for the sake of doing. That’s a terribly hard thing to break oneself of, though worthwhile in the end. It also fed some really bad anxiety cycles. Granted, now I have different anxiety cycles because I’m not doing when I used to be, but I am confident that (like the compulsive need to confront, however politely) I will get to the point where I will be okay zoning out, and hey, maybe I’ll even figure out how to unhunch my shoulders.