This morning I attended an OC Writers’ write-in. I haven’t attended a writers’ group in a long time. Been isolating myself and focusing on my son rather than my writing, rather than myself. Today, I left him home in bed, then left the meeting early to get him to class on time. When I got back home, he was dry-heaving in bed. Crap.
Hate spending my mornings trying to wake him up to do his homework and go to school. He will be seventeen next month. Time to wake up and do homework on his own. Unfortunately, his private school is not within walking distance, nor would it be a safe bike ride, and my kid has no interest in getting his drivers’ license yet. So, I’m still driving him to and from school.
The first week of June, during my son’s summer break when I didn’t have to act as alarm clock and chauffeur, I started cleaning my house with help of my next-door neighbor. She did most of the cleaning and organizing. I chatted and did a wee bit of organizing. We tackled the kitchen, spending two hours on Monday and two hours on Friday.
The second week of June was my son’s first week of summer school, so I took the week off cleaning and organizing. He has a full schedule this summer. He attended most of his classes last week, perhaps because I offered him $10/class/day. He’s motivated by money. It costs more to reschedule his classes than it does to pay him to attend.
Hypomania Raises Its Head (Again)
Last Tuesday in therapy, I said I no longer felt hypomanic. At the time, I seemed relaxed, at ease. By Wednesday my mind was racing. At night, when it was time to fall asleep, to slow down my mind – instead of thinking in my usual monologue, as an orator narrating my life – I heard a cacophony of voices.
I wondered if, when those voices crowded my mind, I should have written them down to see if I was thinking in dialogue. Were the voices characters wanting to be heard, auditory hallucinations, or thoughts racing so fast, I could not make heads or tails of them? Most likely speeding thoughts.
When I couldn’t fall asleep, instead of writing, I medicated myself to sleep. I force sleep when it won’t come on its own.
As I wrote last week during the day, while my son attended school, I could not hear the noise. Instead, I focused on my voice and that’s what I thought. Writing disciplined my thoughts.
A version of this post was previously published on KittOMalley and is republished here with permission from the author.
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