The darker side of the moon...
Those of you who have come to expect my blog to be light, airy and bubblegummy, and only wish to read light airy and bubblegummy should probably hit your backbutton now. This morning's entry is not and will not be.
Warning given...
Many of my friends know that I am a bi-polar type2. For those of you know at all familiar with bi-polar, it means I'm manic depressive, a much more widely recognized title for my illness. The Type 2 means I swing more towards depression than mania. Which is honestly (in my strange little world) easier for me to deal with. I don't know how I'd deal with super happy don't care about the consequences manic trips. I tend to care too much. I also suspect I have Seasonal Affective Disorder (or whatever that name is). I don't do cold very well, I thus don't go outside often in winter. And I chose to move to New England. The silly things we'll do for love. Where is this ramble going?
I'm struggling lately. Between some issues with my mother, the weather, recovering from Christmas finances, and just this weekend, our furnace teetering on the edge of disaster on the coldest weekend of the year so far, I am struggling. Thank heavens I can recognize I'm struggling, and called a therapist to re-start bi-weekly therapy. There was time I wouldn't have. I would have blithely tripped along in my fantasy world, doing infinite amounts of damage with lies, deceit, blurred reality lines and self-destructive behaviour. That was what my life was like before I had a nervous breakdown at the age of 28.
Now if my father were reading this, he would be horrified I'm telling the world I have a mental illness. To him, mental illnesses are akin to taboo, shove it under a rug, don't tell anyone that you are flawed, my god how could this be my child. This is the same man who thought my daughter was just a little excitable. If you know my daughter, or have heard her on the phone, you know better. But it does bring up the question--why am I taking my bubble-gum blog into details of my intimate life?
I remember how awful being that sick was. In the four years since I have been diagnosed, stable and treated, I have learned how to see the world. How to react to *reality*. I remember that sick need for attention, the paralyzing need for acceptance, and the belief I was never going to be accepted for who I was. I was too loud, too fat, too ugly... too many "too's". And everytime I made my self-fulfilling prophecy happen, it was another nail in my self-esteem coffin. And when I lost it, even holding my 2 year old beautiful baby couldn't stop the thoughts of suicide from taking over my life.
I made a promise to her when I got healthy. That I'd never let my unbalanced brain chemicals ever let me take myself from her. That I'd never let myself get so out of control again that I couldn't be a mother. I've kept that promise for four years, and I'm keeping again by starting counseling this week.
Why do I put my story in the public domain like this ? First, for myself.. to remind myself of how far I've come, and how far I have yet to go. To remind myself that I hated being the way I was, and the struggles I went thru to become healthy. And as a catharsis...to put it in words, validate how I feel, and give it voice. In light of recent events, many may doubt me.. may say I am lying to get attention. They may in fact write me off, not care, or have too many of their own problems. I accept that, because I know who I am, I know I've never lied about what I am. There are many who could verify my existence is all I say it to be.
The second reason? If my story helps even one person, no matter who, no matter where... take the step to going to a doctor and saying "I'm hurting, something is wrong, help me." If my story helps just one person do that, I've repaid so many of those that helped me up, dusted me off and sent me on my way with love and caring.
Take care of yourselves, and your loved ones.
Be good to yourself.