Beyond Awareness

 

I’ve been called by these two descriptors throughout my life: inconsistent and elusive. At this point, rather than hearing those as insults, I accept. It’s not that I embrace; I accept. My life has been a series of partial accomplishments that I abandon. My life has been a series of friendships that I let drift off with the wind. My life has been about gathering courage and belief in self and desire to reach a vision, taking steps, impressing myself, then hitting fear. I’ve left jobs and schools and projects and groups because I became afraid and self-conscious about others seeing me stumble. Even the mental illness I carry around, bipolar disorder, is about cycling through highs, and then falling into lows, potentially losing my way as I shift and rock to and fro.

I’d like to know more about my patterns, at least in this regard. I see a therapist now who makes me feel comfortable and I talk on and for an hour, going over my history and how I function. My therapist says I have good insight, and I reply that I do, but having insight isn’t the same as sharing it. It doesn’t give confirmation of my pain. It doesn’t give me the power to delve deep into the dark abyss of my mind, the  level where I believe changes might begin.

When I was younger, my family made the usual summer beach trip. We encountered a machine on the boardwalk called The Flying Cage. The rider would enter a cage, and the idea was to use momentum, holding a bar to push and pull body weight, until the cage made a full loop. I tried it, surprised at how quickly I was reaching the top, nearly reaching, about to loop, my family cheering below, almost there, and then, and then stopping. Fear gripped me, the unknown of swinging round and round within this apparatus. And that’s stuck with me, an image of how close I came before pulling myself back. I understand the symbolism of The Flying Cage. But I need help in working through the hesitation element, the part that causes shame and regret because the expected outcome is failure. 

I want the confidence to complete the loop. I’m tired of beating myself down every time I walk away.

Relating to others is difficult for me too. I need the other person to be more dominant because I’m shy about the approach. This progresses into being led, being told what to do, even if neither of us fully realizes the dynamic. For me, cracks start showing. I silently resent. I show up less. I complain to others, but not directly to my friend, as working through conflict frightens me badly. Maybe I’ll have a weak argument, easily shot down, or I’ll just be left in a vacant, cold space. So, I leave. I go my way, disappearing into myself once again. I’ve seen this play out for much of my life, yet it took time to identify the repetitive sequence of events. Knowing doesn’t help me really, not in breaking the pattern. Talking about it and where I think it originates with my therapist is good, but not the final step. The final step is staying in sessions, staying in therapy to work out conflicts there, in that room, with that therapist.

 I’m glad that medications to treat my bipolar disorder are working very well. Without depression sidetracking me into despair over everything, I stick with endeavors instead of discouraging even trying. Without mania pushing me into many things at once, each genius and amazing, scattering me in this direction and then that, I’m able to calmly assess and create reasonable plans. Mania makes me extroverted and I’m loud and boisterous within groups of people and making promises that vaporize when mania turns into less and less interest and then bleak depression. I certainly know this pattern. Medication is indispensable, yet meds alone don’t develop strategies. For that, I need my therapist and my psychiatrist to catch mood and energy shifts and to offer suggestions for coping.

 I’m in my 60s and I’m tired of knowing all that I do, my background, my history with relationships, my propensity to leave rather than stay and finish, without ever resolving these issues. I’m going to acknowledge my trepidation and  move forward despite its presence. With the aid of a therapist who’s in on it, who I’m not pushing away, who I’m letting hear more than the safe parts, I have high hopes.