Before and After. Part 1. Bipolar and exercise.

Before I forget the great divide. I keep telling those close to me the huge difference between my deep depression August to October, and the coming of the light. One small dip since then, but otherwise on a steady and beautifully content walk through my days.

I promised my psychologist that I would record the before and after; as my memory is so bad.  To give you an example:  I asked my Second Hubby (Hubby from this moment on) to move out during this year’s derail.  I was happy to start divorce proceedings I felt so trapped in my situation. In therapy, Hubby mentioned the time I asked for a divorce while in hospital LAST YEAR this time. I had no idea – I don’t remember a thing. I am sometimes operate like a gold fish… experiencing the same things every year and learning all over again.

If I could just move on with my self-development, instead of repeating myself each year, I think I would lessen the depth of the abyss. The more separate I become to my disease, the more perspective I should gain. So here goes some Before and After recording – for reading the next time I start slipping.  Because the chance of slipping is high.

There are quite a few topics to cover, so I am splitting them into a series of blogs. Otherwise I am sure to bore us both.


I actually kept this up during the dark days this year. It is like a life-rope. I arrive at the ‘must exercise my body’ location with a level of desperation, hoping to feel normal.  Sometimes I do feel grounded, familiar and released, for a while. But it’s tough to get myself there. My body is sluggish, my mind giving me permission to just sit. And then the shower and washing my hair – a mighty, mighty effort.

Exercise – if you can

Years gone by present some alternative scenarios. I have dumped exercise for a few weeks when I couldn’t give a sh-t and too lethargic to care. Or I did slow things like bio-kinetics or walk with my sister. Either way, you get the life-rope idea. I figured that out before I figured out I had bipolar. Part of my self-medicating when I was at university was running.  I developed a mild fetish with running which I am so glad I moved away from.

The one time this last episode I arrived in my jeans and presented myself to my personal trainer … “do what you can”. I couldn’t face getting dressed a second time that day. The effort. And sometimes the lift doesn’t come. The depression hangs on me during the session as my brain keeps me in its underbelly. I look at the floor and remain unseen.

Now it’s easy and lovely. I have fun and work hard with my personal trainer, and my Pilates group lessons are social and in-tune. I make three and sometimes four sessions a week and loving my new work flexibility which means I can fit it all in. I am getting physically stronger and feel fantastic after each session.  I know and mostly love my body.

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