The Levee

Today, I actually had a good sign. I believe that I am nearing the right dosage of meds, and I'm approaching stability. I felt the levee hold.

When I am stable, I feel little to no symptoms. But here, when I am approaching stability, it feels like there is a pressure, an urge. There is something happening in my mind. The storm comes, the floodwaters rise, and I feel the surge of chemicals that want to spiral me into madness. But the levee holds. It means I am not in a place where the symptoms are completely absent, but I am able to easily hold them at bay. Able to fend them off with minimal effort. The storm comes, but the levee holds.

This affirms my positive outlook, my optimism. This gives me hope for the immediate future.

Actually, I think I would be okay, even, with this. I would love to be symptom-free, but this is acceptable. If this is where I stay, I could handle it.

I know that, without meds, today I would be agitated, hostile, and aggressive. I would be paranoid, maybe even delusional. I can feel it in the back of my mind, pushing and straining to get through. There are a few cracks, a few leaks. It's not perfect. But I can easily keep in control. When I get frustrated, I can take a step back and calm myself. When I feel anxious, I can breathe and talk myself down. The storm rages, but the levee holds.

This feels good. Knowing that my symptoms are starting to fade, to wane. The madness isn't in control, I am. At least for today. In this moment, I feel strong. I am a fighter, a warrior - and I am winning. I can feel it.

At times, the storm seems weaker, barely present. But even at its strongest, I am able to hold it off.

I felt yesterday as if this madness would erode my strength. I feared I wouldn't hold out. I would fail. Most of that fear is gone.

Don't get me wrong, I still have some worry, some anxiety. I still wonder how long this will last. But this strength gives me hope. I am aware of what is happening in my mind, I feel the disease pulsing and pushing. But I am in control.

I even know that, right now, some of the ways I am expressing my thoughts and feelings are because of the leaks, the tiny cracks. The mania is trying to push through. I feel its energy, its madness. I recognize it, and am accepting its presence in my writing and thinking, without fear that I will completely lose control. It feels like I am in the other side of the floods and the raging storm, and, while my shoes and clothes might be wet, I am not underwater. The levee holds.

I feel like this, for now, is nearly over. The storm will break soon. The floodwaters will recede. And the levee will continue to hold.

I accept that this whole thing will probably happen again. I will once again have to fight, to struggle. I will feel like I am drowning again one day. But, I also have hope. Hope that, if and when this happens again, it will be temporary. It will be, not an end, but a pause.

How long will this last? Your guess is as good as mine. A few months? A year? Maybe even, like last time, five or six years. Who knows?

Yesterday, the uncertainty was getting to me. But, after a full night's sleep and some more thinking, I was able to come to more of a peace with it. This disease and its symptoms will sometimes be out of my complete control. In the future, I may once again need adjustments, new meds, changes in meds. I may need to be in and out of behavioral counseling and therapy. I might even need to return to inpatient care, and spend some time in the hospital. All that is possible, but none are certain.

Worrying and ruminating won't help. Of course, that's easier to say than to practice. But I know it is the truth. Worry is a destructive force, eroding my strength in this fight. When I catch myself worrying, I try to stop myself.

I feel better, more optimistic. The storm is raging, but the levee holds.