Who am I?

I look in the mirror and the woman staring bluntly back at me is not who I expect to see, even after all these years. I expect a woman of 25 years, still somewhat thin, kind of cute, a devilish grin and twinkle in her greenish/grey/blue eyes. She is a woman who has had a lot of problems in her past, but looks towards the future with hope. She has been in therapy on and off for years, but it's depression and repression of molestations and emotional abuse. But she realizes those things are in the past, so the only way to go is forward.

That is not who I see. I see a woman who has gained 35 pounds from the meds, who is fat and unattractive and disgusting. I see a woman who's starting to show signs of aging~ crow's feet beginning to form at the corners of her eyes, creases from furrowing her brow too much, fine etchings around her mouth. There is no smile there, no real light to her peculiarly colored eyes anymore. Just a haunted, hunted, deep voidlike stare. There is nothing in this mirror that pleases me, not in the reflection, or in the reflections of self between now and then.

I think about how many years I lost~ literally LOST, to psychosis and bipolar depression. There are blanks in my memory that span 10-14 months at a time, usually due to a psychiatrist's bad choice in medication. It has been 8 years now~ almost a decade, since the rug was pulled out from under me and I was thrown into this nightmare, and my loved ones along with me.

I'm bitter still. I can't help it. The years of my life that were supposed to be the most important career-wise and the "best" of my young adulthood were taken away from me. Every once in awhile I'd look around me and see my college friends and people I'd grown up with all moving up the ladder of their chosen paths; many of them becomingprofessional musicians for cruise linesor Disney or symphony orchestras, others teachers and professorsof music.And yet here I was, more lost and broken than I ever thought possible, and although the desire was there to gain mylife back, I havepainfully learned that the world I once sought is beyond my reach, outside of my grasp. I cannot handle the kind of stress it requires and complete dedication and constant traveling. My illess has taken that away from me.

Later I'd hoped torebuild my life ina different direction, workingin music in a different way~ becoming a member of one of the strongest orchestral string companies in the Southeast andhopefully buildingaplace for myself inside of it. All it requiredwas the ability to work a 40 hour week and ocassionally go on sales trips. I lasted 5 months before I crumbled.

Sonow I'm not allowed to work more than 3 days per week. This is according tomytherapist and my husband's wishes. More than that seems to lead to instability andincrease my chances of severe depressive episodes. But it's hard for me, I was always the type of person to go and go and go~ I thrived on multitasking and deadllines. Now if I do that to myself I fall apart and end up not leaving the house for weeks at a time because of the blackness that I fall into.

I feel as though I'm only partially living. I am still mourning the young, idealistic and hopeful woman I was. I don't know how to let go of her, and I'm afraid of my future. Will it be as bleak as I fear it will be? Will it hold any real fulfillment and a lasting sense of peace somewhere down the road? The only beautiful thing I have to show for what I've done the past 8 years is my beautiful boy, and sooner than I know he will be grown and gone off to live his life as a man. It gives me pride, but also brings me sorrow.

So what now? What do I look forward to? Having good days?

I feel so pessimistic and negative right now that I can't stand myself. All I can see is the bad in the situation. But is it worth it to try again to become optimistic when I get let down so easily and so often? Why open myself up to that kind of hurt and disappointment anymore?

I have to go. I don't want to ask anymore unanswerable "what ifs". There's no point.