Best Tag Ever

This morning was crazy color day at school. Soph asked me to make her some hair bows to go with the insane outfit she was wearing so last night I whipped up rainbow hair clips to go in her pigtails. When she saw them she said, “It looks like you didn’t even make these.” I was confused, so I asked her what she meant and she elaborated, “It looks like you bought it at Target.”

It was just enough motivation to get me to not get back into bed. Instead, I took a shower, SHAVED MY LEGS, (don’t you judge me, that’s huge) got dressed in real clothes and here I am. It’s eleven in the morning and I am not asleep. If you are able to do this on a regular basis then I am genuinely, really excited for you. I am not being an ass, and I am not being condescending. I am truly in awe of people who are able to get up every day and take care of themselves without the self-doubt and fear that comes with mental illness. And right now, it’s difficult to distinguish whether I am truly in a low or I am merely healing from this surgery and just blue from being home and forced to be limited in my activities.

It’s amazing though, how uplifting a kind word can be. A sweet and unexpected compliment from a 7 year old was enough to propel me through a brick wall that I had been unwilling to even walk around, let alone crash through. I know she will likely forget what she said this morning, likely before she even has lunch, but I will hold it in my heart for a long time.

awesome

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Restless Rest

I want to write about how I’m healing because I’m resting. But really, I’ve come to associate laying down, sleeping and taking it easy with the vise of ┬ádepression. Even though my body craves rest, my mind rebels and pushes me to activity. It tells me to move and exceed my limitations because if I spend too much time in bed, I will be swallowed whole again by it. I will once again go under and sink to the bottom and stay there. I’m terrified that my convalescence will turn into a major low that I won’t be able to escape from. Yes, I am supposed to be up and moving, but I am not supposed to be 100% Amanda as I am trying to be. I think I can do more than I can, and then I suffer the consequences. And they are serious. I don’t need scolding, and know what I’m doing wrong. I just need understanding that I’m not doing this because out of spite or ignorance. I’m doing it out of sheer panic that my mind will be broken one my body is fixed.

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