February 22nd, 2009

I flip through my journal often and sometimes when I read my personal thoughts I am given a fright. If anyone ever picks my journal up, they will have a first hand account of the ups and downs of bipolar illness. The range in my moods is sometimes off all the scales.
I am still here. Damn.
I am guessing I was having a bad day.
It got better though, because the next day I wrote:
Thumbing along I read this:
I have decided that today is the day I am going to start my novel. I believe that my novel will be written in less than one year’s time. When it is published it will be a best seller.
Okay, I am thinking there is mania somewhere at work in there. A novel about what? Published by whom? Was I planning on creating my own publishing company? Did I think I could just write it in one night, call up a publisher, and charge it all on the credit card?
I am still unsure about this entry:
I am working.
I am productive.
I am able.
I am possible.
Finally a little clarity and balance and normal-for-me tone:
When I am discouraged, I must remember in the distance lies the relief a great session of therapy brings.

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