Mr. Chickadee took his 19-year-old cat for her final trip to the vet this weekend. She hadn’t eaten in a week, and the vet confirmed acute renal failure. I was sad to see her go, mostly because it makes my hubby sad, but it was just time.
To be honest, I won’t really miss the cat. She was always Mr. Chickadee’s cat, and I was never particularly enamored of her. We tolerated one another, and jealously shared Mr. Chickadee’s attention.
Lately I’ve been busy, and depressed, and now I’m traveling (hypomania trigger, whee!) and also planning to disclose bipolar and ADD to Supervisor #2 (panic trigger, ack!) So it’s been stressful and I’ve not been writing as much as I’d like.
At least I’m starting to get back up to speed for work, despite a few days of uncontrollable crying, which makes me grateful that I can work from home. I was just shy of making an emergency appointment with the psychiatrist, but things have gotten a bit better despite, or because of, all the current situational stress. Miserable as it’s been – that much crying is utterly exhausting – it’s just more fuel to the fire to pursue the “WTF, Hormones?” line of investigation.
Write What You Feel: Sad, but a bit hopeful, anticipating an interesting trip. Worried almost to tears, yet again, about the rejection that could come from talking to my supervisor about being bipolar. Grateful I could do some work, but my memory is fraying. I lose the train of conversation so easily that I feel stupid all the time, certain that others can see my loss of mental acuity. Frustrated and angry with my own cognitive incompetence, trying not to despair at the predictable unpredictability of it all. It’s so gray all the time. So dark. If the sun won’t come to me, I will go to it.