I can tell a definite change this morning, as the abilify retreats. I can feel more emotions, and some disquiet. I will stabilize myself with music, therapy, communication, and the love of friends. I take courage in my hands and turn to face my life.
The moon is full tonight, and some Valerie June plays on the stereo. Max can't go out and stay out on his line; there is a bear in the neighborhood. There is also a kitten in the apartment, solid white with blue eyes...4 weeks old. And I look for a name. You will get a picture soon.
Of course, the unicorn meat eating cats are perturbed. Max whines and longs to play with her littleness, but she has an innate fear of him. She hisses and bats the smallest paw in his direction, and he lowers himself to the ground and whines.
Let's be honest, friends. I am full of fear this morning. I miss the constant serenity the abilify gave me. I miss the happiness, and the confidence. I miss the absolute assuredness that the abilify gave me. One time, long ago, I visited the Pyramids in Giza. As I left them, I danced down the slope to the shade at the bottom. That was my life. Now, I have an injured ankle and a bruised soul that keep me from dancing.
I suppose I should be grateful I am not a psychopath, or a sociopath. I have friends who love me, and well-wishers by the score. But, oh, sometimes this borderline personality disorder hurts.
I breathe deep, and hold onto me.
7 am. Better now that I am close to dawn.