Coming to the Table

I have been working harder in being consistent at writing in my journal. My greatest fear is of one of my greatest weaknesses; consistency. I hesitate to take on volunteer opportunities, to engage in ongoing commitments, because of my fear that I will not follow through. This is a fairly new problem, since 2004, my second breakdown. I guess it’s not so new, but it’s still a problem.

One of the traps that I have consistently fallen into is commitment. I begin a simple task, like taking notes for a committee. Suddenly I find myself in a place of perfectionistic over achievement. Obsessing about details, checking, re-checking, and re-checking again. This is my neuro-chemical downfall symptom of bipolar. Or maybe its just a character flaw. I don’t know.

So, I hesitate. I deflect requests to become involved. I lead a fairly solitary life. But now, I have to face the fear. The coping tool of not getting involved, not getting invested, has left me feeling that I no longer have the discipline to complete any ongoing task. Even a recent bathroom remodel took me three times longer than expected, and was much more a mental drain than a physical one.

So I now I find it is time to challenge myself. Am I willing to come to the table? Am I willing to commit to writing? Every single day? EVERY SINGLE DAY? Not to write the great American novel in a month, or a year, or ever. But to show up at the table every day, for five minutes, or an hour. Just to get there, and as the books say, “get [my] butt in the chair.”

Can I let go of the fear of the crash and burns in the past, the fear of failing in the present? Can I try again?

Can I? Will I?

We’ll see.