Last night Brian and I ate dinner at a nearby Italian restaurant. Long after we’d begun our meal, a party of 4 (2 couples) was seated at the table next to us. The initial conversation they had, which we couldn’t help hearing because of our proximity and because of the one guy’s booming voice, was about some Japanese restaurant, the name of which I didn’t catch.

One woman was so fascinated that she asked the conversation starter how the tables were set. I didn’t hear his answer but I imagine chopsticks were involved. Certainly this is a valid question because we Filipinos, for example, set our tables with a plate, a fork, and a spoon. No knives. Anyway, all 4 of them, who were all white, went on and on and on about various Asian cuisines and restaurants, mentioning a nearby Korean place whose name they didn’t know but that they see Koreans going in and out of there all the time. So it must be good, right? Kind of like Chicago Living Tip No. 22.

Should I have been offended? I don’t know, but I was definitely annoyed and Brian knew it. Finally, in a fairly loud voice, Brian asked “What do white people eat?” And, being not only white but from Iowa, he proceeded to tell me.

Turning 40 last month was really tough for me. I kept thinking about my 30th birthday and how so much has changed in 10 years. Back then, I met my goal of finishing college by the age of 30, I was preparing to move to Ohio for grad school, I had published some (admittedly immature, early) pieces in Babaylan: An Anthology of Filipina and Filipina-American Writers, and the world was filled with opportunities and possibilities; there were no limits. I was sure that by now, I would have published several books of poetry and maybe some memoir-ish essays and that I’d have a tenure-track position at a university.

Instead, I’m on disability and can barely leave my apartment on my own. Ten years later and it feels that opportunities and possibilities are now closed to me because of this stupid bipolarness. My pdoc says this isn’t true, that I have at least 35 years of life ahead of me and plenty of things open to me in that time. It’s hard to see it that way when it’s difficult for me to just make simple commitments to meet someone for lunch or dinner or make plans with Brian or even a doctor’s appointment because I’m never sure how I’m going to feel when that day arrives and may end up having to cancel or reschedule. True, I’m not sure that I want to teach again — certainly I’m through with adjuncting! Though my therapist and pdoc tell me that I’m not ready to hold down any sort of a job so there’s no use stewing over career choices right now. I know they mean that I should concentrate on getting better first.

And I have been for 2 years now, but whenever I make progress, something happens (I force myself to progress too quickly or circumstances outside my control occur) and I end up where I started. This time around, I’ve been moving very slowly so my progress continues and I don’t crash. Of course I’d much rather be farther along in my recovery but I’ve finally learned to be patient.

Something that’s been difficult for me to swallow is accepting my limitations. For example, I’ve gained a good 10 to 15 lbs. since last summer and honestly, I don’t feel like taking the steps to do much about it. I’ve recently bought new clothes because I’ve gone up a size or two. On the other hand, Brian pointed out that I’m less likely to go out if I have nothing to wear that fits me, and he’s right. Anyway, that’s the biggest limitation I can think of.

Too, I haven’t been in regular therapy since I switched therapists 2 years ago. My original therapist was cutting her practice to part-time, and I needed to see someone whose office is much closer. I liked the new therapist OK, but in my opinion we never really clicked. Then I read a magazine article an acquaintance wrote about Winston Churchill and how the author manages his own bipolarness: takes his meds, goes to therapy, and exercises regularly (see here). I take my meds as prescribed, but it occurred to me that I wasn’t going to therapy regularly. It’s kind of a long story, but going to see the new therapist made me so anxious that on appointment days I’d get physically ill (headaches, stomachaches, vomiting) and would end up canceling. Never mind the exercise part!

I realized that in order for me to get better, and maybe open up or at least see the opportunities and possibilities before me, I need to be back in therapy. Fortunately, my former therapist will begin full-time practice again this month and has agreed to see me again. I still have to make the appointment. Anyway, once I’m in therapy, then I can think about and consider how I’m going to get back to working out (or accepting my body the way it is), hopefully playing hockey again, and generally move forward. I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to figure out where my priorities should lie.

Though I’m not the success I pictured myself to be 10 years ago, I do have to say that I am fortunate. I never would have thought that I’d meet someone as loving and supportive as Brian, and despite “everything that’s wrong with my life,” I’m happy that he’s a part of it.

Today I not only left my apartment by myself, I took the el downtown — by myself — to have lunch with Brian. It was easier than I expected, even leaving the house, but the cleaning lady was here and that always motivates me to get out.

Our stop is near the end of our end of the line so it was pretty empty when I got on, which it would be anyway at that time of day. As we got to the trendy/more populated neighborhoods the train started filling up to the point where people had to stand. I started feeling an anxiety attack coming on, but thankfully it didn’t. I just kept looking at the sights out the window.

See more progress on: start taking public transportation again

Recently, Brian and I went to the other nearby Walgreens that we don’t go to because several years ago they pissed me off for some reason that neither of us can remember, and at the time I DECREED that we would never shop at that Walgreens ever again but would shop at the other nearby Walgreens instead. Until a few weeks ago. Well. Unlike the Walgreens we usually go to, this other Walgreens does not lock up their deodorant (see here). And they’re mere blocks apart from each other. Interesting, huh? Not really.

Anyway, we won’t be shopping at that other nearby Walgreens again anytime soon because when we were there, Brian went down the paper goods aisle and I waited at the end until he turned around to face me. I had picked up a soccer ball from the bin at the end of the aisle and planned to drop kick it to him, knowing that I’d miss because I’ve never in my entire life successfully drop kicked a ball. He grinned and nodded his encouragement, so I drop kicked it, kicking my leg really hard because I knew I would miss it anyway. The ball went sailing over the shelves into the next aisle.

Although we hadn’t finished our shopping, I thought it was a good idea for us to just get out of there with what we had; Brian agreed. As we made our way down the aisle toward the front of the store, who should come around the corner carrying the very ball I successfully drop kicked but a Walgreens clerk. I mumbled something about it being an accident and we got the hell out of there.