Day 1: Today as I was driving to work, I realized that I wasn’t really focused solely on the driving, but paying attention to a wall of words cascading through my brain, a voice in my head that came in loud and clear. It was telling me that I am terrible at my job and my coworkers hate me. I had a few scenes play out that bolstered up the argument, a time when a coworker angrily disagreed with me, an insult that was couched in an observation, a look between two people.

Normally I would use cognitive behavioral therapy to talk myself down from that twisted, gnarly limb I was hanging from, but the voice was strong, so it proceeded to build up more and more, until I thought I might – what – me? cry? But I could not. The mood that accompanied the thoughts came on so suddenly, that I was concerned I might be heading into a depression. It turns out I am not.

As we get busy with the tasks of the day, it is so hectic that I don’t have as much time to dwell on specific thoughts, and I just try to do my best, but it isn’t good enough. That’s what the voice tells me all day, and I try to battle with it, and it makes a trying day even more exhausting.

I tell myself as I walk to my car for the drive home that there was no evidence that my coworkers hate me, they were perfectly pleasant toward me. I’m at a red light, so I search on my phone for The Brother’s Comatose mix, and I play it and tell myself, today wasn’t so very bad, and the voices are quieter, and I don’t have to listen to them. I just listen to the music, and nothing really gets resolved, not today, the battle of the brain continues. At least I am able to combat the thoughts with a more realistic response.

I sing this Brothers Comatose song to my bipolar thoughts, so they better listen up:

I’m moving on and I ain’t ever looking back. And when I’m gone, don’t try to call, it’s the only thing I ask.

The mood of this song captures how I’ve been feeling the last few days, and I play it on repeat and sing along. It makes me feel calm, at peace, and understood. And ready to take on the next moment. One moment at a time.

Day 2: I have one intrusive thought/image of suicide, very fleeting, it just pops in my brain and disappears just as quickly, with no emotion attached to it. This is typical for a bipolar brain and not at all alarming to me, just something to watch to see if it spins on repeat. It does not. I decide to send a message to my psychiatrist, just letting him know that there’s been a shift in my thinking, and give him the specifics. I told him I would write again if there is any change.

Day 3: I find getting ready to go to work not as neutral as it usually is; I meet the day with a bit of dread. The day goes fairly well, no intrusive thoughts out of the ordinary. I start to look at my work situation from a different perspective, as I find myself getting irritated with the way my co-workers handle some situations. I start to think I may be more competent than I give myself credit for, and just not in the fertile soil that allows me to blossom. I think back to my time with other teachers that I worked for, and how the environment was different. I still had the same issues with my insecurities, that follows me around wherever I go. But at least the dignity of all the children remained in tact. We spoke to them respectfully, and never raised our voices. I think the yelling at children is just getting to me. There, I said it. I am not a yeller. I know this job can be done without yelling. I love my coworkers, and consider them good friends, but I just can’t do the yelling. One could argue that’s the only way they listen. But I don’t believe it. I need to find a way to be heard in this environment so the children are receptive. That, or change my environment.