The title just about says it all.
This is the first time that I've moved since I was diagnosed and, as I stand back from the process, I realize the impact of being bipolar on this task.
I've attributed some of the reluctance to do the necessary work to the fact that I really don't want to make this move. I know I can no longer afford to stay in this apartment where I feel part of a community (although not much of a participant), where I feel safe, and where I selected to live even before I relocated to this city. Some of my moves were self-destructive in some respects, but each led to leaps and bounds in my growth and advancement as a person, mother, woman, girlfriend, friend, and every other role that I've accepted. I anticipate the same results this time.
This move involves significant downsizing again as I'm moving from an apartment to a set of rooms. I've made four moves that entailed crossing an ocean or crossing a continent. Each move meant that I had to assess the value of the objects in my life. The irony of the timing of each is that they occurred right about the time that things were pretty good and I had all the things I needed and some of the things I wanted. A pretty vase is not a necessity, but it can hold beautiful flowers that brighten a room and help elevate my mood. At my destination, I usually end up replacing most of the items I had to abandon. Sometimes it costs less to replace items than to move them.
I'm more aware of the move specific stress this time. Accompanying that is the stress of having a job with an irregular schedule and irregular salary. Money is already tight. Energy is already low. But I'll have a significant decrease in living expenses, be close to my two true friends, and be in a community of people near my own age. I'll have a non-family member roommate for the first time in decades. The scales don't seem balanced to me.
Then there is the cleaning. I know from my support group that I'm not the only bipolar person who has problems keeping a clean and organized residence. I wish there was a clean bomb -- a sort of bug bomb that eradicates the dirt and leaves a fresh clean smell after the deed is done.
The coffee overload doesn't help. Missing meds doesn't help. Forgetting to eat good food doesn't help. Time to use my whiteboard again and break this project down into bite-sized pieces and hope that I don't break. I've had a few of my warning signs, but so far I've been able to stay calm about them and that seems to help.
I have good support, but I won't call for help or accept help until I know that I can't go forth without it. I want to do this on my own and yet stay realistic about how much I can do.
I'll be fine as long as the stores don't run out of deep, dark, delicious, and medicinal chocolate.
