The tragedy has passed, like it always does.

We know it always does, but we still can't see it, no matter how hard we look for it. It's painful. On days like today, we know that there is always a lighter side to the darkness when you struggle with bpd. But, in the throes of a very eccentric mania or in the depths of a bottomless depression, it is hard to see the forest for the trees.

The mania that I had going on the other day morphed into tremors, sweats, inability to breathe and hallucinations. Then, I finally crashed. I cried...a lot. I slept, 12 hours to be exact. The next day, I didn't leave my bed. My husband finally coaxed me out of the bedroom to watch a movie with him. I did. He made popcorn and bought candy, like we were at the theater, so I wouldn't feel like I was missing "date night" with him. He's so fucking supportive and wonderful. I am so blessed having him in my life. Anyway, we watched movies. We retired to the bedroom, lit candles and had wonderful heart pounding overly taxing heavy breathing heart attack inducing sex. We slept some more.

I then made a phone call in the morning. Took on a job interview. Was feeling very insecure about it...something I usually don't feel at all. I got dressed. Put on makeup for the first time in weeks. Did my hair for the first time in MONTHS. Tailored black slacks, a killer soft baby blue blouse and a gorgeous pair of steve madden round toe pumps with ribbons on them. I looked fucking killer. I came out of my bedroom...

"Wow," says the husband. "You are probably going to get a marriage proposal instead of a job proposal!"

Ego check. Thank you.

He made me feel terrific, despite every reason to feel like shit.

The interview process was a bit discouraging. I failed my drug test due to one of my medications. I had to reveal my laundry list to the person drug testing me...and it won't take a rocket scientist to figure out what I am taking it all for. Connect the dots. Do the numbers.

I'm fucked up. But, medicated properly.

Anyway, I don't know that I will get this job. But, at least I put it out there. I made the effort. It made my husband happy that I even attempted to get past this self imposed roadblock I created for myself. In turn, that makes me happy.

It was a pretty okay day.