Write Where I Left Off.

During one of our recent sessions I told Francis that I felt like my life wasn’t particularly interesting or exciting enough to blog about. Ever one to point out the positives, he replied by saying something to effect of, “look how far you’ve come over the past year or six months even.” He rose a valid point, as the “get right, stay right” campaign has taken me from the hospital, to a homeless shelter, to functional stability.

I have now resided at the same address for a little over five months. For someone whose residential history is something that would make a tribe of gypsies jealous, this is worth mentioning. In Atlanta I had four different addresses in eleven months, then came home to my mother’s house, which, of course didn’t last long. Through it all Whole Foods has been the anchor and one of few consistencies (the other being Francis’ presence) that I can think of off top.

Back to the point though. To someone afflicted by bipolar disorder in particular, or someone going through it in general, I suppose this is evidence that things do indeed get better. When I cannot say, but my own positive trajectory is case in point. I am slowly starting to rebuild. I’m sitting on my bed typing this looking at my closet, and there are a decent collection of jeans hanging in the armoire as well as eight pairs of shoes. The return of the shoe collection is a good sign. Though I only really wear two or three pairs max, this is what it used to be like back in the day, when things were on point. Though I may not ever been as materially overloaded as I was, it does feel nice to ever so incrementally be working my way back to “normal.”

My main goal is to just maintain and improve from this point forward. While I flirted with the idea of returning to grad school, it was more of a whimsical thought, as fleeting as it was impulsive. Aside from the massive debt it would require accruing, my heart was never really into it. I fancy myself a writer, and if external opinion is any indication it’s where my greatest strength, or gift, if you will lies.

All pertinent signs from educators, to friends, to career placement tests have pointed me in the writing direction. I want to inspire and be inspired while doing so. None of this requires a degree or a return to the pasture that in some respects I feel I may have outgrown. I understand that people far older than my 31 years return to school, but in some respects it would be like putting a ladder against the wrong wall than climbing up. A waste of precious resources namely my time, energy, and money. I could be a pretty decent clinician, but I feel most at home writing. Though it may take some time to get the rhetorical ferocity and creative inventiveness back, it’s just a matter of getting the rust off. I look at it like being out of shape, and getting back into top from through concerted diligent effort.

Though getting an MSW would certainly help me be of service to others, I’m not even sure if I’d excel at it. While I can be a great listener when I want to be, I can be as aloof and spacy as others when the mind drifts. Furthermore, being a therapist takes a lot of objectivity and patience; though I’m sure this is part of their professional training, part of me is already knowing my first instinct would be to shake the shit out of non-compliant or frustrating clients. 

I just edited/updated this post then Chrome decided to crash on me. Hate it when that happens, may or may not revisit this post. 
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