I discovered that my car has a moon roof. Which is funny (me discovering it, not the fact of the moon roof), because it has always had one, it had it when I bought my car 13 years ago. Which reminds me, my car was not A Total Loss, not in any way, shape, nor form, not to anyone except the insurance adjustor. After a month or more with a wonderful auto body place (so wonderful, I need to remember to write them a thank you note), she was returned to me, beautiful and better than she has been in years.
Last night I woke up in the middle of the night, so I went out and christened her (then came in and went back to sleep ). I had been thinking about the fact that I hadn’t done this for a couple of days. When I first got her, I gave her a name, but I didn’t do anything special, I just looked at her and saw it and said it. So I wanted to do something a little more special this time, given our history and all that we have been through together and all that she has come to represent for and mean to me (and how fortunate and grateful I am just to have her!).
I thought about how they christen ships by breaking champagne bottles on them, and then I thought about how I am not breaking anything against my car, and how champagne is expensive and I didn’t have any on hand. So I came up with a more suitable alternative, both for her and apropos to me and my life, and last night, around the-middle-of-the-night-it’s-dark-out-here o’clock, I came out with a Smiley mug from Eat’n Park full of Grey Goose vodka (along with a bottle of Fiji water, just because I wasn’t entirely sure if letting the alcohol sit would be bad for the paint) and baptized her anew. Grey Goose and Fiji water. Nothing but the best for my baby!
That’s the Smiley mug which was more, which was a vessel for a short time (for those of you not familiar with Smiley, the Eat’n Park mascot). I love it when I do things so meaningful, yet at the same time patently absurd. There’s a lot I could say about that.
Back to my moon roof. For the record, that’s how it was sold from the dealer and what it says in all of my user information – which of course I still have. Not that I would have begrudged my ~ (she has a name, my car, but it’s mine alone to hold) a sunroof, but a moon roof is much more me.
I loved having that on my car. The breeze that would blow through her when you opened up all of the windows plus the moon roof, wow. And I could feel the sun coming down and landing on my head. . . But somewhere, some when, somehow, I forgot. I just stopped thinking about the moon roof. I stopped thinking about a lot of important things.
This post is actually two days in the making. I started writing it shortly after awakening Sunday morning, but then an amazing opportunity came to me, so I did something completely unprecedented in the history of this blog. I stopped what I was writing mid-sentence, closed up shop and left it. I don’t know how others write, but there has only been one other time (out of 184 posts I’ve written to date) that I didn’t just sit down and bang the whole thing out, and even that time I typed myself some detailed notes before I saved. I don’t save drafts and finish later. It all comes out in a rush, or it doesn’t come out at all.
Something amazing happened, lovelies. Sunday morning, I woke up, and I was me. I was not a mentally ill me, I was not a struggling or scared me, I was not even a medicated me – okay, technically I was and I am and I shall remain medicated, but it doesn’t feel like it – I was just me. Me ten years ago, before I had ever heard the words “bipolar disorder” associated in any way with myself, me when I could balance it all and do everything in my life so beautifully and flawlessly and it wasn’t an effort, not really at all. The best version of me that I have ever been, but even better now because I have gained so much wisdom since then, and so much appreciation for everything. I’m back, Ruby, the kid herself, which is more than I had hoped for.
Could it all fall apart? Of course, sure, at any moment in time. But that’s something I’ll deal with if it happens. If.
That’s something else that changed for me. I’m not living my life in fear anymore. I’m not putting into place backup plans that are only marginally better than the state they would get me out of. Less miserable is still miserable and I refuse to live my life accepting the presence of that spectre. Un-uh. Not me. Not anymore. Not ever again.
In the four days between 29 February and 4 March, so much went on inside of me. This incredible realignment took place, via twists and turns and battles and metamorphoses in my mind. And it’s eerie, because you can see it around my eyes. There are lines that I didn’t have for all of my years of fighting and struggling, you can see them now, forever etched around my beautiful, bright, blue, sparkling and shining once again eyes. And they appeared in those four days. Believe it or don’t, I have photographic evidence.
It’s okay. I’m actually a bit fond of them. I earned them. Without question I earned them. And they are mine and belong to no one else.
Sunday morning this post was dropped so I could go spend the day with my Babygirl.* She’s 12 now, can you believe it? As I stretched on the grass on Sunday, untangling kite string, singing Simon and Garfunkel songs and when Babygirl could stand those no longer, Taylor Swift, we were laughing and I was thinking, If I had to live through it all again just to get to this day, I absolutely would. If this is all I get, that’s alright. I would do all of it again just to have this day.
And I would. I finally let go of so much. And I know I had to live through all of it – all of it, savvy, and that includes the electroconvulsive therapy and the post-traumatic stress which resulted – I had to live through all of it to get to where I am now.
And no matter what happens next, right now I would not be anywhere else. Okay, maybe floating on my back in the Caribbean. . . ;)
Moral of the story: Don’t ever stop fighting. And don’t ever accept a life of second best.
*Babygirl is what I have decided to call my oldest little girl for the purpose of her having a name here. My girls need names. Lots of the people in my life I can refer to in a more abstract way, but my girls (and a few others) need names.
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