Right on @marionwilhelm . I felt the same way. The abundance of negative self talk is a sure sign I need to stop and check in with myself. Ask questions of myself like, why are you examining every regret and poor decision you’ve made over fifty years? Why did you dive into this cesspool of of sadness and recriminations?

Then there’s the me that loves my yard and gardening, my dog Ellie, writing, art, my children and grandchildren, morning coffee. Those things I love are who I am. Writing them helps. And so do meds.

I think most of us are multifaceted. There’s the work person, the family person, the person we think we should be (watch out for that one), the me who has a mental illness - the list can be lengthy.

A real wrench 🔧 in the works for me was, what happened to me the artist/creative?That’s integral to who I am but not in a traditional way. I had thrown that part of me away so I could keep up with expected social milestones. Being self-supporting, career, marriage, children, working again but with a lot more at stake. And to top it all off depression.

And I can’t change the script. Got to keep going and take care as best I can. But when you have the added burden of depression and manic episodes, that intensifies the burden.

I have a niece. She has uncontrolled bipolar and is alcoholic. She is currently in jail. She is a remarkable woman whose not been able to accept the limitations her condition requires. It’s very painful to watch. I’ve been through two major episodes, but this time I’ve chosen not to go to bat for her.

The only person she hasn’t asked for help is herself. She’s burned a lot of bridges. I told her she can always call or text but that’s as much as I can do. I think she feels too ashamed to call. Deep down I think, I know if she’s willing to be her own hero (a role she’s played in the lives of others) and see this illness is bigger than she is, she’ll be even more remarkable. She may well be homeless, I’m not sure. I’m in Florida and she’s in New York.

All this is to say, mind your facets. And mine your facets. Remember that part of you that once loved to . . . . (fill in the blank). Hold on to that part, make it a destination.

When I neglect a plant, I know it’s time to go back to the drawing board.

I’m back in my yard, and repotted a plantly or two and added wellbutrin to my citalopram.

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