Apathetic Me

So I’ve missed a few days.  Unfortunately I’ve turned rather apathetic to the whole NoJoMo thing lately.  Actually towards everything really.  Thanksgiving is less than two weeks away and I really could care less.

This is what’s scary about being bipolar.  I lose sight of my future.  I stop caring about anything and everything, except keeping up the facade to people that I actually do care.  I don’t want to go fifteen rounds about how I should care and fight and not give up.  I’m tired.  And I don’t care.  I can picture a future, but its not really mine.  Its more like a fantasy world.  As if I were an astronaut or a secret agent.  Or a fairie.  I can never be those things, and I do not want to hear the "You can be anything you put your mind to" speech.  Its not self-deprecating.  Even if I wasn’t depressed, I wouldn’t be a secret agent or an astronaut.  Thats not where my talents lie.  But I don’t even care about where they do lie.

The trip to see the symphony was on Friday.  I wasn’t moved.  It was a great performance, and I did enjoy it.  But…  I lacked something.  I know it wasn’t the music or the performers who lacked.  It was me.  I’ve lost the zha zha zhu for life.  I don’t know if its the long dark winter hours, or something else.  Maybe I am more effected by seasonal depression than I care to admit.  I honestly don’t think I could be completely objective on that concept.  I love winter.  I love the evening.  I love the night.  So I tend to think its not that.  But maybe I’m wrong.  Maybe there is something to this seasonal affective disorder – SAD.  I just don’t care.

I should recognize these signs by now.  I should be aware of whats going on and do something.  Fight back against it all.  Except – and here’s the kicker – I don’t care.  I’m supposed to be prepping for my recital next semester, and finding an accompanist and practicing and…  I just don’t care.  I’m tired, but even when I am awake, I have no urge to do anything.  I push to cook or play or practice or go forward.

I’ve been taking my meds, probably more regularly than I have in a very long time.  I’ve been doing physical therapy and exercising, eating healthy.  And still – I don’t care.  There’s no monster racking at the bars.  No slipping down an incline.  I’m sitting perched on the edge of something amazing, and I don’t care.  I could fall one way or another and I don’t care.

I don’t know if this is backlash from the whole Letter to the Ex or something else.  I do love him.  And I know I can never have him.  Being friends is almost worse than not.  Being so close, being acutely aware of how wonderful he is and how good we are together.  Yet knowing we will never be together.  I don’t know if part of that has destroyed something in me, or what.  Maybe I really am just grieving the loss of a love.

I want to care.  I want to fight.  I want to push and rage and scream… and just go forward.  But I can’t seem to get up the desire for all that.  I can’t see the dream that I’m fighting for.  Even when I didn’t know that I could achieve the dream, I knew the journey would be worth it.  I know the path I’ve decided upon and I know how right it feels.  But I can’t step forward.

I don’t know how much of this is being bipolar and how much of this is maybe just being my age, my time, my place, whatever.  Am I being crippled by fear?  Back to the comfort of never having tried, so never having failed?  I don’t know.  But I don’t care.  I just want to curl up in my bed and not wake up.  Maybe tomorrow will never come.