Doubt

One of the biggest annoyances (to put it lightly) about being bi-polar isn't the self-hatred (and there are many instances of those). It isn't even the exhaustion from the manic episodes. Nor is it the ridiculous amount we spend on my meds. No. It's the self-doubt.

Is this happiness I feel or am I just wired? Am I feeling sad or frustrated? Am I mad? Am I actually feeling something? Are my feelings my own or are they being manufactured for me by the great minds behind modern pharmaceutical science? Did that really happen or did I just imagine it? Was I a good teacher, or was I just being manic? Did I actually say that or did I just write it? Did I write this story because I'm a good writer or because my depression is feeding my art? Will I still be able to write well when I am, well, well?

I'm not even listing down the questions that I ask myself every day because...I'm not sure if those questions exist or should exist.

Someday, I'd like to own my own feelings. I'd like to find a way to function without my meds. I'd like to be able to be puyat and not have a bad day afterwards.

I'd like to hug my daughter and feel genuine happiness and not doubt its sincerity.

I'd like to be held by my husband without thinking I am unworthy of him.

I'd like to breathe deeply and feel the joy of being alive, un-propped up by drugs.

I'd like to think of the past events without being reduced to an anxiety attack.

...Needless to say, today was another bad day.