World Closing In: The Purge

It's one of those days when it feels as though my world is closing in on me, and I have no space to breathe.

I went to bed early last night. I remember glancing at the clock after I had been in bed -- actually on the floor -- for an hour or so, and it being 10:30. I must've fallen asleep shortly thereafter. I slept very well too. I woke up once during the night, around 3AM; then I was up for the day three or four hours later.

The morning felt crisp when I woke up. I felt like that yesterday morning too. Fresh. I didn't have that heaviness on my forehead and behind my eyes that I have most of the day.

I'm tired now though, and it's only 10 o'clock. It's one of those days when it feels as though my world is closing in on me, and I have no space to breathe. It started yesterday -- as, now that I think of it, Monday often does. It's hard to bounce back from the weekend -- with the different schedules and my husband taking over in the kitchen. There's usually more of a mess to handle on Monday than on any other day.

I feel like getting rid of all of our stuff and all of our furniture.

I don't just notice the dishes, which would be doable. But I get irritated by everything. The toys and the blankets and the shoes and the laundry and the Hess trucks and the pencils and the papers and the crayons and the discs and the jackets... I feel like getting rid of all of our stuff and all of our furniture. Sometimes, I do bag up a lot of stuff. Then, I slow down, tired, and whatever was in a bag, somehow ends up back on the daggone floor.

I've been organizing my crafting supplies this week and last. I've gotten most of my fabrics and yarn in order now. So, last night I got out my knitting needles and finished up a couple of projects I had put on hold many moons ago. I'm planning to make a skirt for Charlotte today. There's something about making something out of a bunch of nothing, acknowledging that I can't reconfigure the whole world to my liking. Perhaps, it's about control. I can control this yarn. And where nothing but a useless, cut-up pair of jeans was, I can make something worthwhile.

There's something about making something out of a bunch of nothing, acknowledging that I can't reconfigure the whole world to my liking.

Cleaning the floor isn't like that. The ear warmers I knit yesterday are still here today. They'll be here tomorrow. I fold the blankets three, four, ten times every single day. No matter how many times they are neatly draped over the back of the couch, they will not remain there. They're not even useful there. Same for the toys and the dishes and the clothes.


Purging is common in bipolar, in case you were wondering what this post has to do with anything.


Though I'm feeling frustrated with the way of my world, the day will go on as it usually does. We'll have school lessons at 10:30, or thereabouts. And the laundry will get done -- well, some of it will, and some of it won't. And I'll remind myself that we don't have any furniture that we should get rid of. We hardly have any furniture at all.