Maybe I've Changed . . .

Yesterday while I was at work my hubby transferred all of our pictures and music from our old laptops to the new one and backed it all up. A very time consuming task. So after I got home we spent some time looking through our pictures.

Pictures from when we first started dating, game nights with friends, our wedding, baby shower, our son (who is now 9) as a baby, his first Christmas and birthday . . . you get the idea.

And I noticed something - I look happy. Genuinely, sincerely, happy. I look like who I remember. I can literally see my personality shining through. There was depression back then, sure, but it was mild and short lived (it was awful before I met hubby). And yes, there was hypomania too, but it was also mild and short lived. The main thing that I could see is that I was happy.

It's funny that we should be looking at these pictures because this is something I've been thinking a lot about recently - will I ever be happy again? Will I ever be carefree and quick to smile, quick to laugh? Will I ever be me?

The answer, that most of me believes, is no. No I won't. Definitely not how I used to be. And maybe not even a fraction . . .

What a way to think. What a way to feel. And why? Why do I feel this way? This is what I've been thinking about. This is what's been plaguing me. See, I think that I've changed. That I've fundamentally changed over the last 4 to 5 years. I'm not the person I used to be, and I'll never be her again. Over the last 4 years I've been dealing with rapid cycling bipolar disorder that's resulted in extreme mood swings, crippling depression, 3 overdoses, frequent cutting, and 4 hospitalizations. Not to mention near constant suicidal ideation.

I take my meds, go to therapy, have ECT biweekly, do all of the DBT and CBT things that I should, read daily affirmations . . . I still work, I volunteer, I workout, I don't let myself withdraw and isolate . . . and yet, yet I continue to struggle. I'm not me. I'm not who I remember.

So what do I do? Mourn the loss of my old self? Mourning the loss of her means accepting who I am now. And I thought I had done that. But maybe not. I don't know. Because I see who I am now as someone who doesn't know happiness anymore and I don't really want to accept that. So what the fuck do I do?

What. The fuck. Do I do?