and here i sit.
somehow in the past year and a half i've transformed into someone i never thought i could be. i went to EMT school last fall, and am as of january 6th, a certified EMT-IV for the state of tennessee. not sure where that came from, but it was empowering. and interesting. and just all out amazing. no job yet, but i'm hoping to start somewhere part time very soon and try to figure out if this is really what i want...if it is i'll continue onto paramedic school...which would be an amazing accomplishment should i complete it.
i went through my blog and decided to make it public because this is me. i'm not ashamed or too proud to admit i have a disease. i have trouble coping with day to day life. i can only hope i can give someone else hope. i was absolutely miserable a few years ago, but here.i.sit. happy. healthy. plus it's an incredibly awesome outlet for me. judge me, know me, love me, hate me. whatever.
so as of now i'm only on 40mg/day prozac. mark will tell you quicker than i will that i still have bad days. or bad hours. or bad minutes. my doctor wanted me to go onto a psychiatrist, but i've heard that before. and i just can't do the medicine dance. i'd rather feel human and deal with my emotions than be drugged out of my life. i'm doing better than i have...well....ever. and i have mark to thank just as much as anyone/anything else. he's my rock.
i love being home with the kids...ashlee is now 11 (12 in 2 months!), kait is 9, aidan is 6, jake is 5 (6 in a week!), and oliver is 4. our puppy joey is now 8 months and 90 pounds. love his great dane ass. but i gotta start working...a family of 8 on a firefighter's salary is pretty much a game of russian roulette every bill cycle.
my ex-husband (nathan) is no help. his turn is coming soon.
my family hasn't gotten any more sane. have had no contact from my family that lives within 30 minutes of me...the only family relationship i have is with my parents. who continue to process and try to accept my life. as far as i'm concerned they've done amazing. i've now come out as atheist (i might as well said i have sex with animals on the weekends for money), but my parents have really been as accepting as they can be. much more than i thought they could be. as far as the rest of my family...they're scared/mystified/angry/blinded...shocker. i'm hoping one day they can see past the "hilary-has-sex-with-animals-and-is-an-ATHEIST" thing eventually. but i'm really thinking it won't happen. my brother got married in november and i went back to texas to be a part of it...of course the family was there. they pretty much avoided me like the plague, and i heard quotes like "oh, i hope she behaves!"...which made me want to get crazy and do something predictably psychotic. but i didn't. because i'm an adult. not sure what they are. oh wait. they're christians.
but oh well. i love my life. i love my mark and our 5 spastic kids. and one spastic pup. we have it pretty good. couldn't really wish for much more. other than, possibly, an engagement ring? haha guess i can wait on that one, too.
oh it's hard to live the life you choose. but at least i chose it. i did. i chose it. we chose it. and we're happy.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
down
what a week of lows. my brain doesn't know it's christmas time, apparently. i find myself more and more losing grip of how to cope, how to function, how to breathe. it's a battle between my stubborn brain and screaming heart. i crave to be "normal". i have grandiose dreams of being supermom, of secret giggles and moments stolen with my lover, of days full of productivity and joy...but i'm all too often disappointed in my own ability to ruin it all. why can't i be that smiling, romantic, cheerful, sexy, funny girl in my visions? why must i be the bitter, stubborn, hateful,tired, mean spirited girl of my reality? life isn't fair. this disease isn't fair.
it's utterly exhausting to have the harsh reality hit me in the face every.single.day. that this is what i'll be dealing with my entire life. this neverending battle of meds, moods, and shit. for the entirety of my life. i don't understand the purpose of this curse, of this disease, other than god had nothing better to do the day he created me. (ha) "hey, i'm gonna make this chick fucked up the rest of her life and cause her, and everyone around her, and endless supply of pain!" thanks, "god".
i need a good day. i know i'll never escape this madness, but i've got to find a way to live with it, because everyone around me is suffering for no reason other than the fact that i'm stuck in their lives. i've experienced utter desperation more times in my short little life than anyone should have to. where is my break? where is my day? where is my light? ohlife disease, what a horrible hand you've dealt me tonight. where is my freedom. where is my family's freedom. unfair unfair unfair.
it's utterly exhausting to have the harsh reality hit me in the face every.single.day. that this is what i'll be dealing with my entire life. this neverending battle of meds, moods, and shit. for the entirety of my life. i don't understand the purpose of this curse, of this disease, other than god had nothing better to do the day he created me. (ha) "hey, i'm gonna make this chick fucked up the rest of her life and cause her, and everyone around her, and endless supply of pain!" thanks, "god".
i need a good day. i know i'll never escape this madness, but i've got to find a way to live with it, because everyone around me is suffering for no reason other than the fact that i'm stuck in their lives. i've experienced utter desperation more times in my short little life than anyone should have to. where is my break? where is my day? where is my light? oh
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
encouragement
i know i've been neglecting this blog for the past 5 months or so...but thank you for all the sweet and encouraging messages and emails. i love you all. i couldn't do it without you. love love love. thank you. yall are amazing.
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.)
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.)
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