It’s the eve of my 38th birthday and I think I’m hypomanic. My therapist is on vacation for the week, so I don’t know for sure. For anyone new here, I have Bipolar Disorder. I was diagnosed in my mid-teenage years.
I’ve been up since 2:30 a.m., went grocery shopping, came home and washed the dishes; baked a strawberry cake. Burnt a cake, actually.
Now here I am.
Yesterday I confessed feelings for someone that I’d been holding in for over six years. They were flattered, but taken. Part of me knew it just wouldn’t be anyway, but I felt a pressure from within to say all that was true. What to do, what to do.
Tonight I’m celebrating my birthday with my cousin. I’m very excited, as we’ll go to one of my favorite restaurants and we’re having a sleepover at her place. I love sleepovers. I feel like a kid, in that way.
Perhaps tomorrow I’ll try to bake a cake again. Yes, tomorrow is Thanksgiving, but I won’t be celebrating on the day. I’ll be 38. I’ll travel out west about 100 miles to go visit with family for a few days.
I’m also vegan, so I’ll be bringing my own food to family gatherings. The main things on the menu are Field Grain Roast and my macaroni and cheez.
Until next time.