Tukayote Helianthus: Unkillable
RECOVERY, EMOTION, DANCE, PHOTOS, AND TUNES.
NO ANESTHESIA. NO BULLSHIT. ALL LOVE.
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This week, I finally stopped arguing with permanence. Not the things I can change—I know that dance well—but the things I can’t. Chronic conditions. Lifelong diagnoses. Bodies and brains that don’t magically “turn around” if I just try harder. In IFS terms, I hit a trailhead where perfection, fear, shame, and denial were all standing guard. Acceptance isn’t giving up. It’s making peace. Before I can walk forward and live meaningfully with what’s permanent, I have to befriend the parts that are terrified of imperfection and rejection. When those parts feel safe, they don’t block the path anymore—they offer wisdom,…
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One of the cruelest parts of bipolar disorder is never fully trusting good feelings. Is this joy—or the start of hypomania? Is it real, or is it a glitter-bomb that’s about to explode into consequences? Right now, I can see that some recent “good” feelings were actually mild destabilization during a medication change. Not a crisis. Not euphoria. Just enough hypomania to make a mess. Awareness doesn’t erase the frustration, but it gives me a chance to course-correct, repair, and keep moving forward. This is the work: learning to hold joy carefully without letting fear—or denial—run the show.
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On paper, I’m “stable.” My mood is steady. No swings. No spirals. But underneath that stability is a brutal reality: crushed energy, flat dopamine, and relentless akathisia. For years, one side effect quietly dictated my life and drove me to self-medicate with alcohol and kratom just to function. I finally named it for what it was—and chose a different path. This med change isn’t about chasing perfection; it’s about survival. I’ll take a few hard months of transition over another cycle of substance use, crisis, and hospitalization. Stability that destroys your body isn’t stability. It’s a trap.
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