Having So Much to Do, but No Motivation to Do It.

A few weeks ago, I was on top of the world. I built this site, was writing every day, reading two to three books a week, and just being productive. My first newsletter was written, and I started tracking social media metrics. I was just having fun and loving being alive.

Now, I find myself with so much to do, but no motivation to do it. I need to write, read, plan out social media. I need to promote my books. No matter how hard I try to reach deep within me to pull out some semblance of motivation, nothing ever comes up. I find myself with a blog and no content planned for the next month. My mind is racing as I begin to hear the familiar voices telling me I’m a failure.

So what happened? What brought me from the top of the world to rock bottom in a matter of weeks?

Bipolar.

See, in periods of mania, I feel like I’m unstoppable. Motivation aplenty graces my life. I spend money like it is a bottomless pit. Most of the time, it isn’t things that I need or things that I really want. It’s more spur-of-the-moment purchases that add up over time. I get so much accomplished during these periods, some of my best work comes out of it. I could take on the world.

But then a switch gets flipped. Suddenly, the motivation is gone and my anxieties are more relevant. My anxiety leads me on a journey every single day of what needs to be done, what I need to accomplish to be successful. The motivation just isn’t there. At the end of the day, I berate myself for being a failure. “That’s all I’ll ever be,” I tell myself over and over again.

The sad realization of overspending hits me as I struggle to put together a plan to bring myself out of a financial pit I drove myself into. The anxiety creeps up and plays me every possible scenario of money woes. I lose my car; I lose my job; I lose my house; I lose my family. I always lose.

It’s a relentless cycle that always haunts me. I’m constantly worried that a slew of depression will follow my good mood. I’m looking over my shoulder and watching the wake of my destruction, but I can’t stop my feet from moving forward. Time after time, I overanalyze what I’ve done. I hate myself for it.

Time after time, I’ve held in these feelings and thoughts. I kept them to myself. I didn’t want to feel like a burden or a stressor to any of my friends and family who were dealing with their own stress. I felt like I was bothersome with my worries and my pain, that they were all irrational thoughts and people would dismiss me as crazy or attention-seeking.

Finally, I had to realize that I couldn’t do this myself. Every time I fell into the darkness, it wasn’t until I reached my hand out for help that I was pulled out. Still, I ignored what helped me the most time after time. Until this time. I reached out for help as soon as the feelings of dread came back. I got a doctor’s appointment sooner than I had any of the times trying to fight it myself.