the life of zooey who happens to be Bipolar 2
I’m stuck. Held somewhere not in the past and not in the now. This feeling has grown over the past few weeks to the point where I need to write about it.
Still. Unmoving, and I have no idea why. Daily, I continue to let go of who I was, how I defined myself for two decades of my life married to my now ex. That version of ‘wife,’ which was very unhealthy keeps fading, which is a very good thing. But gone also are interests of my past. Art creation. Live theatre attendance. Movie going. Prolific poetry writing. Classical music listening. Granted, these are mostly things I did or one role I played, but they defined what I perceived as who I was by what I did, leaving me feeling like Swiss Cheese.
A bit of who I was carried forward into how I live today with my dear hubby. Gamer is one, although my play style has changed
quite a bit. I’m still a mother, sister and daughter. I also continue to feed the hungry once a month with a group of folks. Yet, a lot of my personal interests are gone. I’ve written about this loss of creativity before, so I won’t dwell on it.
I am making new memories each day, but I feel disconnected with my definition of self. My dear hubby talks about who I am to him, but I can’t make it stick in my head. Maybe I don’t believe it deep down. I know, it sounds selfish to think about this when I have a lot in my life. Yet, there is a missing piece I can’t seem to grasp.
Is it looking ahead to something to do or hope for? Is it how the rest of this life will play out? What does it matter anyway? If I knew, it would help the doer in me work to, ‘make it so.’
So, I wait for Godot…yet all is quiet again today,