Do, Do Doodoo

Good gravy, I disappeared for another goddamned month again. Nothing exciting has been happening. I’m on Depakote now and I’m paranoid that it’s giving me the stupids and making my vision blurry and if there’s something in my midst that can be crafted into a complaint, then it definitely, definitely will be.

Oh wait, my tendonitis. Or tendinitis. Both are correct spellings and that fucking bugs me what with my being a stickler about things like spelling and grammar (you guys, I’ve totally gone back and edited months-old posts for tiny errors like a me vs. my typo, even though probably no one will notice and also they’re really old posts. Just a testament to this particular neurosis). ANYway, I have tendonitis in my right ankle. It hurts. I have to wear a brace. The brace only fits in my Chucks. The worst: I can’t go to my MMA class on Sundays or work out the same way at home during the week. I won’t be able to return to class for about 3 months. I’m gonna get all out of shape and lose the awesome muscles I was developing and I miss the environment in general. The women in my class and the women who teach my class are great. I enjoy myself, I get to push myself. Good stuff. Also, all that shit about exercise being beneficial to mental health has been true so far in my case.

So I’ve been grousing about my ankle injury messing with my routine a whole lot more than I’ve been trying to come up with modifications or temporary solutions because griping is easy. Yesterday in therapy, I said to my doctor, “My laziness has ambitions.” Which is unfortunately true. I’m not a self-motivator. I have trouble sticking to routines when no one’s holding my feet to the fire. That’s partly why I joined a class rather than buy a gym membership, the latter of which would require me to decide when and how often I go, which would make for a very enthusiastic first week that’d quickly drop off into a money pit by the end of the month.

What now, then? I don’t have the time or energy to tackle this entirely right now, but in therapy this past week I decided I wanted to start setting some goals for myself in order to figure out what it is I really want from life (’cause I have very little idea), which would then inform my approach to treatment. I’ve jettisoned more than a handful of careers – and the sense of identity that accompanies them – over the past 10 years. I’ve been unmoored for a long time. I insisted to my therapist that second chances are inherently shittier than first chances and she disagreed so I said, “What’s your argument?” She said the second time around, I’d be more likely to understand what I want and don’t want. I’ll agree with that, but it gets messy when I remember how sure of what I wanted I was when I was 16, 17, 18, 19. K, granted, 16 year-olds don’t typically have a very clear picture of the future, and one has more latitude to dream big at that age, but I didn’t expect something as theoretically straightforward as knowing what I want from life to lose its shape so unrecognizably. I’m gonna get back to this ’cause it’s a problem for me that I haven’t been able to grip very firmly in the last few years. I’m…perturbed. About all of everything.

Today, I have more options than obligations. I think that’s what most people call a weekend. I have a very chill friend date tonight, so I won’t be cloistered in the house like some days. But I have about 5-6 hours to kill before then. What to do…I may never stop wondering.


Tagged: bipolar disorder, complaining, exercise, identity, meds, mental health, MMA, motivation, tendonitis, therapy, treatment

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