The New Year

Yesterday morning I saw my doctor. He commented that there must be some superstitious part of me that wanted the rotten year that was 2012 over. 
This was partly true. Part of me worries though about what may come next. This illness has sharpened it's teeth since the last time it reared it's ugly head and I worry I may not have even seen the half of it yet. I'm used to this level of rotten and while it's hard, it's familiar and I can deal with it. Something new and different, even something like the year 2013, is unknowable and holds unknown episodes of what?
My doctor also deemed it necessary to take my blood. I don't think he realised I was using my blood but I must have been, for after the blood was taken I felt quite dizzy and bereft. I spent the tram ride back into the city with my head feeling like it was full of clouds, my eyes tearing and my vision dropping in and out of grayscale.

Then there was work and after work I made my way to a party in Northcote.
I had my usual social anxieties involving unfounded scenarios that lead to my mortification, playing in my head. Plus there was the new anxiety that comes from seeing people for the first time since the psychotic episode.
But these really were unfounded anxieties. Besides being hugged a little tighter than I'm used to and searching stares into my eyes following the question, "How are you doing?", everything was relatively normal.
I say relatively because this was the first New Year's Eve in over a decade that I have been stone cold sober.
I had toyed with the idea of having a few drinks and seeing how I fared but when I imagined myself hungover with a pounding headache on top of the usual medication related fatigue, shakes, headaches and wobbliness, it just didn't seem worth it.

We left the party just before midnight to convoy to the top of the hill at All Nations Park. We lit our sparklers and counted down then bellowed at the top of our lungs "Happy New Year!" before collapsing into each other's embraces.

The vista we were afforded was stunning. We could see the fireworks go off over the Yarra, at the Bolte Bridge and some presumably illegal fireworks exploding further out north. As I stood and watched the sky lit up in colour and smoke I felt a wave of sadness come over me. When I'd yelled, "Happy New Year!" I'd really meant 'please fuck off 2012, you've been too horrible for words and you nearly killed me'. This wasn't so much about welcoming the future as it was about putting some distance between me and the past. And when I really allow myself, even for a second, to think about what has happened to me and what I've been through, I feel incredibly sad for myself.

But I know that feeling sad for myself does nothing, so let's look to the future a bit, hey?
2013 is not going to be a big year. I cannot hope for that for myself this year. 2013 needs to be about continuing my recovery, taking small steps, sticking to routines and building my resilience so I can manage whatever may be ahead of me. There will be work and uni and gym and appointments and therapy and blood tests and medication and bad days and challenges and hopefully some days when I feel unencumbered by my illness and free to enjoy life. And blogging. There will be blogging.