It’s been a while since I’ve posted on here. I just thought I might give you an update.
I’ve been doing pretty good with managing my episodes. I have found ways to meditate and bring myself to calm. However, I notice that the people that care the most often take and exacerbate my feelings and emotions to 100 times worse than they actually are. I recently had a situation where I was making sarcastic comments, and someone took them seriously which resulted in the police actually questioning me to ensure that I was not going to harm myself. My bipolar isn’t severe enough for me to think that I’ve gotten that bad.
But what hurts the most is hearing the people you love the most call you things like “psycho”, “mental”, or even “schizo” in the heat of an argument trying to negate your own personal narrative as if your emotions are always irrational, and that you lack the ability to think things through enough to actually make sound debates.
Lucky for me not everybody thinks I’m a space cadet, so at least I can have conversations with people that don’t involve someone telling me that I’m emotionally unstable. It’s like telling a cancer patient on meds that no matter what, they still have cancer, despite them treating it.
I will never understand why people are so insensitive to something they claim to be knowledgeable about, yet never seem to remember that symptoms are not like on television. I thought about going to the local support group to talk to friends and family on how those of us who suffer want to be treated, but I feel like it would be a waste of time because people would end up on the defensive, just like my loved ones have been.
So for those of you who are suffering in silence, or even in the open: keep your head up. If nobody else understands what you’re going through, or how you feel, know that I do. And for you friends and family who want to be supportive, remember, they can only tell you how they feel; don’t ever try to interject perceived emotions because we’re not always in the midst of having an episode.
These past few weeks have been rough on me. I’ve been struggling to find myself amiss a ton of chaos at home, and in a foreign city. It’s still early, so I can’t say its been a complete success or disaster, but I can say that it has been stressful. So stressful that I find myself drinking more and more alcohol, and not realizing it.
This past Saturday, I managed to down 3 drinks in a 30 minute span, and maintained that I was completely sober. Except for the fact I nearly got into 2 fights. If it wasn’t for me being with a group of people, I probably would have ended up in a cell or with a black eye. I completely made a fool of myself. And all I can remember are the few fragments of text left between twitter and various text messages sent throughout the night.
Needless to say, I spent all of Sunday cooped up in my room, alternating between embarrassment, self awareness, and a mild hangover.
Today, I was referred to a counselor by my neurologist. It was perfect timing; since questions regarding mental illness do weigh in when referring to neurological symptoms. Hopefully I can get in soon; I think therapy is the last line of defense before a relapse into another breakdown, this time with alcohol abuse.
What is considered ‘the norm’? Pretending like one’s issues do not exist? Not seeking help for a disorder that you know is slowly killing you by breaking you down as a person? According to an article I read on Yahoo!, it is the norm for the NFL. But what about real life?
When I first found out I was bipolar, I wasn’t even expecting such a response. I began working with a counselor at the University because I was frustrated with how I was being treated as a woman in the Natural Science department, and wanted ways of coping with it since I assumed it was causing me to have extreme bouts of anger and depression. Turns out, it wasn’t the fault of the department after all.
I was in denial for years that anything was even wrong. It was up until last year (a few months before I started this blog) that I actually acknowledged my disease. And when I finally admitted it, most of my family and friends were accepting of it, and endured my ups and downs with me. Of course, there are the few people who still think I use my disease as an excuse to be lesser of a person. At least that’s the mindset of my parents, one of whom is actually bipolar himself.
Recently, I’ve been going through a stressful time in my life. I’m at that midpoint in my twenties where I’m struggling to find my path in life. Unfortunately for me, that includes financial struggles along with the career search, which is why I figured it would be a good move to live with my mother since it would give me the opportunity to clear my head and get my life together. Yet, it has been a constant struggle to even get her to acknowledge that my disease can often hinder me in areas that a person without it wouldn’t have the same issues. Because of this, it has been constant criticism and insults at my expense, setting back my progress that I had gained with the disease.
It’s hard living with bipolar. Those who live with it never seem to be in the right. We either bottle it up, and pretend like its not there while it eats us alive, or we seek help from the worst of places (which can often lead to substance abuse). If you suffer from bipolar, I’m sure you’ve experienced one of the above at some point in your time line. For those of you who are living amongst loved ones with the disease, please be patient with them, and encourage them to get the help they need instead of pointing out what they are doing wrong (which could be a result of their disease).
…this mess will never end. I am alone. I have no support system, even though I’m living with my mom. The fact that I had to move in with my mom is depressing enough. I try to keep my mind off of things, but no matter what, I come back to the realization that things wont change, my problems aren’t solvable, and I still wish my life was over.
Today, a bill collector for my student loans calls my mother and tells her that I told her that she would pay for it, which is something uncharacteristic of me. I already hate acknowledging my financial setbacks, so why would I push them off on someone else, then not tell them. Regardless, my mother now thinks I’m a manipulative and deceptive person.
Nobody likes me. Really. I have maybe two people that still talk to me since I’ve moved. I text and message others, but its like I’m someone they never knew. Apparently, my personality and my bipolar is an extreme turn off. I wish for something better, and I try to stay positive, but I doubt better will come.
I need help. But nobody is here to help me.
At what point in your life do you stop and realize that you truly need help? Are you seeking help, or are you just allowing yourself to wallow in the daily conundrums that continuously affect you in ways that nothing else can. I’m at that point where I know I need help, and its clearly visible to those people surrounding me.
A new acquaintance in my new town asked me today why I was smiling despite me feeling ill. I replied, “It’s a learned habit”. At what point did I learn to ignore my pain and hurting (both mentally and physically) just to appease those who aren’t looking to be appeased?
I think about all that I’ve done in my life. Granted, compared to many others its not much, but its been enough to fill my days. Reflecting on the things I’ve done has gotten me to only realize that not once have I done anything truly for me. I look and see all the things I like to do, but I don’t love it. I don’t love anything. I hardly love myself at times. But the question goes deeper: who am I?
On this skyline of mountainous peaks and deep valleys that create my emotional being, its like I’m hiking along an uncharted path through the rugged terrain, without having a clue how to hike. Not knowing who I am, and then not understanding each swing of my mood makes life all the harder to navigate.
Maybe today I’ll finally stop and ask for directions.
…will do you good. A simple phrase sung by Sheryl Crow that holds true, at least for my life. You see, I was down, depressed, and having an increasing number of episodes, which were less and less on the irritable manic side, but more and more on the severely depressive side.
I was at the point of wanting to kill myself. Friends and family didn’t want to deal with me anymore because of the severe depression, which made the depression worse. I was alone. I was going through a rough patch financially, and emotionally. Not only was my personal life taking a toll on me; but my surrounding environment was also. Any area heavily hit by the economic depression can do that to a healthy individual. I needed a change, and quick, before everything killed me.
Finally, I decided to up and move to another city, another state, where I knew nobody. And that’s what I did. All I can say is, I’ve never been happier. I’m getting my fresh start, and I’m surrounded by happy people who are successful. I feel like I’m on the right path to finally getting peace of mind and my disease under control. So far, nobody has freaked out at the notion that I’m bipolar, and I’ve even met a couple of people who are dealing with bipolar themselves. They too seem much happier than the non-depressed individuals back home.
So lets see where this road will take me…
I haven’t written on here in a while. Pretty much since my last really bad episode which lasted for two months. I’ve been in and out of a severely depressive state, with no irritability in sight. It’s been tough. Which meant I had to do something drastic.
After my lease ran up, I quit my job, bid adieu to friends, and moved. Just left the state. Granted, I’m crashing with a relative until I get on my feet, but pretty much I’m in a new city, where I have no history with. No old friends, no bad experiences, nothing. And so far, everything is feeling a little better. People are nice and understanding. The weather always seems to be sunny. There’s no sign of a recession anywhere. I’m just glad to be away. Away from everything that was eating me alive like acid on flesh. I am glad to be away from the depressing sights of the aftermath of an economic slump. No more seeing hard working people suffer from poverty and joblessness. No more seeing friends and neighbors on public assistance, formerly those of middle class society. No more uncaring politicians who care more about recognition then their own hometowns.
I’m in a better place now; a metaphorical death. Granted, I wanted to kill myself, and I tried, not before I was restrained by a good friend. So at least there isn’t as much suffering, although I do feel a bit lonely here with nobody that I really know. Hopefully that will change soon.
But thanks to everybody that was concerned about me. Its hard to find people that care about complete strangers, yet my readers are such people (which makes me a lucky blogger). I hope all is well in everybody’s world, and of course, know that if any of you need someone to talk to, do not hesitate to message me.
Peace and Blessings!
I have spent my life as the butt of some cosmic joke. I have kept faith for years and years for things to get better. But now, with homelessness looming, along with a job loss, I am giving up. I have been a burden for long enough, and I can’t bear to live off of someone else since I am incapable of independence. So let this be my bidding adieu as I join the ranks of those who are lost in time.
Yep, that’s right, the episodes are back again. Fierce as ever.
It all started this morning. I was craving pancakes and noticed that my roommate allowed one of her friends to finish off my maple syrup (I know it wasn’t her being that she doesn’t eat syrup). I totally flipped out, called a friend and bashed her for 2 hours as she listened on in the next room.
I finally got over it (by making muffins), and went about the rest of my day, lazy and relaxed as ever. As night drew, I went to a friend’s going away party, and ran to the grocery store on the way back. Being that I was with a friend, we were talking about something and out of the blue I got irritable and started bitching about everything.
Okay, so at least the rants were laughable due to the comedic timing of those surrounding me (since they’re used to it). But the fact that its only day 15 of me being back on the birth control shows that I may not be able to handle myself while on hormone therapy.
You see, before the Birth Control kicked in, I was happy. Like really happy. So happy that there was nothing that could stop me. Granted, I had my one big episode, but it spawned from loads of bad news, and a few bad situations piled up. Now, everything is at a good pace, I’m in a good place, and I’m starting to get PMS-irritable for no apparent reason (one of the two types of my episodes).
At this point, I’m torn. So the question is: do I continue to suffer from emotional turmoil due to the birth control, or do I allow myself to continue to be in physical pain (I mean keel over serious pain) without it? I would love to hear your opinions and possible solutions, if you have any ideas on it.