bipolar disorder

It is very difficult to be around someone who is manic, because we are so mercurial; charming and entertaining one instant, then bitter and reproachful the next.

It is very difficult to be around someone who is depressed, because we are so volatile; smiling and seemingly stable one instant, then suicidal and absolutely hopeless the next.

So how difficult must it be for my family to deal with me, who is both manic and depressive? I can only begin to imagine the pain, uncertainty, and anger they must process on an hourly basis when I am around them.

On one level, I have 3 children who lost their mother to cancer at a young age. One of whom will never remember her. They had another woman come into their lives, pick up the pieces and raise them as her own for 3 years. She was taken from them because, as life would have it, she wasn't the one meant to be with their father. The gutwrenching task was given to him to, once again, inform his children they'd lost another mother. Then they get me. Manic depressive me. Even with out my illness, I'm not a very kid-friendly person. Not to mention, in the year I've been in their lives, I have yet to find my "balance", or any symbalance of a "normal" me.  Is that even a realitistic event that will ever occur in my life? I can only hope. All they want is a "normal" life. All they want is a mother, a family, and love. I give it my best shot, which to me feels like 100%. To them, it probably feels more like 10%. If only they could see the battles I fight every minute I'm awake. Then again, that's not for them to worry about, or know about. They are very reserved, and have walls of protection around their hearts. Who could ever blame them? That's not to say they are weak, because they are the strongest, most well-grounded children I've ever met. They understand life, death, love, and loss. That's not something every 11, 9 and 5 year old can say. Not even close.

On another level, I have 2 children who have  no walls, no boundaries, and love everyone the moment they meet them. I have to tell them, on a regular basis, that it means more to me when they only tell me they love me a handful of times a day rather than every 5 minutes. They force me to be affectionate, they demand constant reassurance of love. They may have "lost" their father out of their daily lives, but he was instantly replaced with a man who is more of a father to them than their actual father ever was. (The other 3 seem to have gotten the opposite deal, thanks to me) So those 2 didn't skip a beat. They did, however, suffer with me through the first 4 and 2 years of their lives. I layed on the couch for hours on end, and when I couldn't breathe from so many tears, they comforted me. I'll forever owe them my life, because if it weren't for them in those dark dark days, I wouldn't have had much of a reason to go on and pursue something better for them.

On the deepest, inner most level (as approximate to my heart), I have a partner. A man who scooped me up off the floor and held me until I could stand again. He continues to hold my hand as I learn to walk through this illness, through this maze that is my heart and mind. He was only aware of the tip of the iceburg when he asked me to be with him. I feel guilty about that sometimes; but in the back of my mind I know he would still choose me even if, on that first day, he knew all he knows today. I didn't ease him in, either. He came into our room one night to find me crumpled on the floor in agony. He was alarmed and confused, and I couldn't breathe long enough to explain, but he got on the floor with me and held me until it stopped. He is the only person in my life to not run from my illness. He doesn't pretend he doesn't see me when I'm hurting. He seeks me out, he takes away all my responsibilities, and makes me as comfotable as he can. He allows me every outlet he can afford me. He would do anything to help me. He spends hours researching my condition, coming up with coping mechanisims, and actively trying to understand me. He holds me when I cry, absorbs every second I smile, and never turns me away. It pains me, more than anything else, to see so much worry in his face when he looks at me sometimes. I have never known, or even heard of, a stronger man. Please hold out for me, my love, because I can't do this alone.

I am trying to think of a way to describe what it's like. It's all I know, so it's hard to compare it to anything else. For years I just thought I was depressed. I've seen counselors since I was 16, been on 5 different SSRIs for depression, and spent most of my Saturdays in bed. I always managed to simply manage. I never felt truly "balanced". During the period of my highest medication dose, I still had more bad days than good days. I'd always wondered if I was bipolar, instead of just depressed. Now I know. It all makes sense. (ha) I sometimes feel like superwoman. I feel so empowered. I take on massive projects, or plan out the layout of the house I dream of. I feel like I could conquer anything, and solve every single problem I've ever had in seconds. I giggle, play, laugh, and love. I don't have a care in the world and nothing can bring me down. With no warning, no trigger, nothing, I have lost the will to live. I hate everyone and everything. I can't deal with anything. I feel flattened, deflated, hopeless, helpless, worthless. I cry, I snap in anger at anyone for anything, I run away. I hide. I want to go to sleep and not wake up. Those are the two extremes I float back and forth between. That's as good, and as bad as it gets. Most of my time is spent in a milder state of either one. I've been dealing with it for so long, I've gotten pretty good at appearing "normal". As detrimental as that gift may be, I'm very thankful for it. I'm thankful I can function in daily life, while my insides are screaming at me. It allows me to, at least pretend, I am a functioning part of society.

I started taking my first antipsychotic medication a week ago. I felt better within 24 hours. I've had a lot of up and downs this week, mostly downs, but I feel like I can cope with it all better than I could 2 weeks ago. I had been on Prozac for several months, but let it lapse and went 2 weeks completely off medication. I would like to pretend those 2 weeks didn't happen. The only side effect I'm having right now is being incredibly sleepy, and incredibly thirsty. I can't complain, though, because I am so very thankful. Thankful I finally have insurance after a year of not having it. The Prozac wasn't cutting it for me, but I knew I couldn't afford to go see a doctor or get on a different medication. The good meds are the expensive meds. My insurance came through, and I am now able to take a medication that costs more than our house payment per month, for only $5 a month. I am thankful for my partner, and for my family who have endured me through all of this. I am hopeful of better days, and a better me.

Here's to the rest of my life managing, embracing, and learning how to live this life as a bipolar woman. (And hoping my family learns to manage, embrace, and learn to live this life WITH a bipolar woman.)