This summer I did something I've not done in a very long time - I made a plan. I dared to look into the future and visualize something happening. Something that I made happen.
Plans are dangerous. Each plan I make has to be put into context. With bipolar disorder, plans can be rockets to the sun or as dreary as grey laundry.
I'm hyper-aware of this and know from the past that most plans I make have little grounding in what can actually be accomplished or not accomplished.
I know better than to make plans. But this summer I talked myself into a plan for the future, or at least the next few months. I planned to go back to school full time but the plan was crushed by the reality of limitations.
Now, my plans have disintegrated and I have disintegrated along with them.
I let myself hope and hope has played its usual hand. I lost as usual. I should have been cautious and more realistic. All this summer, I told myself this was possible but I was stronger now. I guess that was a lie. I guess I'm not that strong.
Everything feels brutal and hard and too much.
And tomorrow I'll wake up and this will all feel the same.
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