Bipolar: Day 5,747

I've been very busy since my last post. I've applied for disability (well aware that the chances of getting it are slim to none), gotten my van fixed, took my daughter for FCAT testing, put my best foot forward in being active (interacting with others), but most importantly, I've made myself go out and do the things I need even when I really just want to stay inside and hide.

In the last few months I have taken to analysing when, where, why and how my struggle with bipolar began. Hence the title of this post. My true battle roughly began around the beginning of my Sophomore year of high school. I knew before that that maybe I had some issues, but what teenager doesn't?

For me, I knew it was getting worse when I started doubting my worth, my individuality, brains, looks, attitude, etc. to such levels that I had to struggle daily just to get out of bed. I'd come home from school and just want to go to bed. I didn't want to do any of the things that always made me smile, reading, sewing, knitting... And I was really good at crafts, and cooking, I could always get a little praise for anything I made.

When I had to be around people this was me...

 

And it telling anyone what I was really feeling scared me.

I was 27-28 before I finally said, "Enough!" I'd been married for about 6 years, had 4 sweet babies and I was miserable(granted, my family wasn't in the best of positions). I started medication and took it for close to a year before I started questioning the medication I was taking. I was still feeling like crap, still feeling "wrong", only now I could focus on it. And I really began to collapse in on myself, I took a couple College classes and did alright but could seem to make myself keep it up. :-/ 

Next post, I'm going to talk about a few of the things that impacted the degree of my Bipolar. It's not pretty...

I have had manic-depressive illness, also known as bipolar disorder, since I was 18 years old. It is an illness that ensures that those who have it will experience a frightening, chaotic and emotional ride. It is not a gentle or easy disease.

Kay Redfield Jamison

Bipolar Awareness: Day 7

YUUUP! This pictures shows just how Bipolar feels. And this next one is what it's like in my head. 

It's really strange most of the time but if I could take a picture of what I see inside my head, this is it. There's a thought there but it's blocked out by all this NOISE. Today has been one of these days. I feel like I could have gotten so much more done today but it was so loud inside my head I couldn't keep track of what I's already done and what I still needed to do.

I'm not even sure this makes any sense!! Music isn't helping enough today!

Bipolar Awareness: Day 6

Tired...

So, so, so very tired today. 

All I want to do is go to bed.

Cuddle down in my waterbed, soft cozy blanket wrapped all nice an tight around me.

Today was just kinda Blah. 

I was able to keep the kids on task as they did their school work and managed to help them between yawns, lunch and tension pain in my back. I guess it wasn't SUCH a bad day.

Bipolar Awareness: Day 5

Annnnd, I'm back!

Due to being stupid in my early 20's I only have my two oldest kids on the weekends right now, so I spend Friday night and Saturday chilling with them and then we hit the internet on Sunday. :-/ I've decided that I'll focus on what every day is like for me from here on out, maybe a little back story where needed but not a lot. 

But first! I was diagnosed with Adult ADHD with Mood Disorder when I was roughly 25-27. I was re-diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder with Symptomatic ADD at 29. Phew!

I never thought of doing something like this until I watched a video that was posted by Upworthy last week. It made me realise that Depression comes in all shapes and sizes. Mine is different from hers and everyone else that has made a comment on there. Every person is unique and mental disorders are even more so. 

For me, everyday is a fight to contain my irrational anger and sometimes sadness. Lately, I've had to add panic to the list. The slightest sound, movement, or touch can set my heart racing and a headache pounding out a relentless rhythm on my overloaded brain. 

As I type right now, I'm breathing deeply listening to music trying to tune out all the noise in my house, trying to calm my brain and my nerves in the hopes that my heart will beat just a tad bit calmer. Which brings me to something I mentioned in one of my other posts, coping. I now use writing and music as my primary coping techniques (I love Pandora, Jango, and YouTube for streaming music). I have always loved music, of all kinds (except Rap), it helps focus the static in my brain into coherent thoughts. It's still a little odd to explain to people that most of the time I hear , and sometimes feel, nothing but static. 

My husband can tell you that he constantly has to get my attention 2-3 times an hour. I generally have music playing 24/7 just so that I can function properly; otherwise I move on Auto Pilot and remember almost nothing that I did that day. I know quite a few people thought I was stupid for stopping my meds but they weren't me and they couldn't get inside my head no matter how hard I tried to explain it to them. Meds didn't make me want to socialize more (or less), they didn't calm my anger, sadness, despair, etc. (didn't even lessen the intensity), they did make me sleepy and lazy (but I was working a full-time job and on my feet for 8+ hrs a day with kids to care for a house to keep clean). 

Now, music (and writing) are my therapy and I'm grateful for my very long cord on my headphones so I can clean while I listen (and dance around my kitchen).  

Bipolar Awareness: Day 4

If you're still reading this, thanks!

I know that this is two post in one day, but that's because I hit 'Save' last night instead of 'Publish'. Woops, my bad, but shit happens and we must push on!

For years I've tried to find ways to cope with my bouts of depression. During middle school and high school I used reading, music and drawing as my outlets. I would sit outside with my Portable CD player, my case of pencils and drawing pad, and whatever book grabbed my attention. I'd sit for hours on end, escaping my reality for that of a wonderful place where magical beings existed or mystical powers could help you shape the world into a paradise.

It helped, I drew and read and I sang along to songs (most likely way out of key) and I found happiness in those moments, because I could never seem to feel happy in reality. It's something I still don't get, why didn't my smile always reach my eyes? I look at some pictures from when I was younger and I'm wearing a smile but my eyes look like there's nothing there. It's disturbing to look back on now.

Bipolar Awareness: Day 3

I wasn't diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder until I was 26 - 28 years old, even though I had been fighting depression and manic behaviours since I was 12 years old. Middle School started a strange series of ups and downs and as I was a teenager, pretty much everyone just wrote it off as being an over emotional teenager. But that's what society said it was, if you cried, raged, and sulked for days on end in cycles you were just over emotional.

I went to middle school, thinking that it would be great! It was okay that a lot of my friends weren't going to the same school, I'd make new ones... right? Instead I learned that Elementary School is far better policed than Middle School. Teachers in Middle School have so many children walking in and out of their doors that they can not see the individual in every child and so children get pushed aside.

I was institutionalised the summer between 6th grade and 7th, and it was one of the biggest jokes I've ever had the misfortune to be part of. Group Therapy was just a bunch of pre-teens sitting around sharing what they liked to do and the Therapist just sat there reading a book. We were punished for playing and helping eachother and locked in the "Anger Room" if we disagreed with the Ward Supervisor.

I remember these two little boys, one was 4 and the other was 5, they both had what I now recognise as Autism. They were sweet kids and they were the first to call me Missa(the 3 yr old called me Missa Momma). I would rock him to sleep a couple times a week because he missed his mother and didn't know why he had to be there with the "mean men".

I was so happy when I heard that the place got shut down!

Bipolar Awareness: Day 2

Welcome to Day 2 of my Bipolar Awareness!!

 I decided to do this yesterday, well before I had an "episode", to give myself proof that I HAVE made progress with my disorder(I HATE it when people call it a disease). I know on some level that I have made progress in the last two years without medication but sometimes I feel like I could do better with medication... and then I look back at how temperamental I was on it and I know I made the right choice to stop.

I'm feeling more like myself now, not completely back to ME but getting close. So, me... Two years ago I was the proud breastfeeding, baby-wearing Momma of a beautiful, blond-haired one year old (well, there's 4 more plus her, but I'll get to that eventually). I'd been off medication (Wellbutrin XL) for almost 2 years and I was happy to stay that way. But life isn't fair and sometimes it likes to kick you when you're already down. Long story short, My family had to move into a shelter, where if you have a history of mental health issues you have to see at least a Psychiatrist and be on meds.

This was possibly one of the worst time frames of my life. Having to go to a shelter was fine, I was ready for that... without medication, I wasn't ready for it WITH medication. I felt like I was being punished for daring to have a mental disorder, something that is in no way a fault of my own. The 9? months that we were there I went through more depressive, anger and hyper spikes than I had in the previous two years and any time I brought it up, the rule book was brought out.

Talk about a slap in the face! You say you have these rules to keep everyone safe, yet when you have proof that someone in your facility is becoming more erratic on medication than they were before you started to enforce the rule, you ignore the danger all in the name of The Rules?!! Moving past that, new house, job, 3 kids living in the house, and a hubby; these four were the only reason I got up some mornings(even with meds); I still couldn't get control of my moods. Weeks of talking with my hubby about quitting the meds and we both agreed, I couldn't get any worse. I had two full weeks of meds left, fourteen pills to wean myself on. Within days of being down to only one pill, I had stopped screaming myself hoarse every other day and within a week of finishing the last pill I hadn't had a day were I felt like sleeping all day.

Four Months later I had to quit my job. Summer was coming, they wouldn't agree to cut me to nights only until the new school year began. :-( I hated my boss but I LOVED what I was doing and I hadn't felt happy with my job while I was on meds. It was just somewhere I went 5-6 days a week to act happy, friendly and helpful all while being miserable and angry.

I don't think I could go back to that and come out the other side.

Bipolar Awareness: Day 1

I haven't made a post on here in about 2 years, and I can't believe that I let myself do that. I've left myself to vent through Social Media, which I know is a pretty stupid idea; I always feel limited in what I say. It doesn't help that it seems Facebook (and Twitter(pfft... seems? Yea right!)) limit you in what you type, what you share, what opinions you express. It's just another form of oppression, another way to make people feel unimportant. "Keep your post this short; the animals attention span won't make it through the rant you want to make."

SO, two years. Two... very, very long years. Two years in which I know I've made loads of progress in being me and not just "Momma" or "Ma Hunny" but can't shake that feeling that I'm one "fit" away from a padded cell. Every time I have an episode I can't help but feel this building panic; one word away from tears, one crash, bang or thump away from locking myself in my room. Hours spent feeling useless, unworthy, small... just wanting to crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head.

Chocolate Makes It All Better

But then a little hand or voice will pull my attention and I try desperately to push the panic down with a cup of coffee or tea, maybe a Red Bull or monster(I hate that Caffeine is the only thing that helps). I grab my frayed ends and try to keep them together, somehow I make it through and I hope that when I get up in the morning I be back to normal.

And then I curse society for making me WANT to be NORMAL. I don't though, normal is for losers; people to scared to follow their own drum. I can only blame the people who first treated me, they made me feel like I was broken, it was my fault, I could be like all the other children if I REALLY wanted to. And now that I'm "all grown up" I know they were wrong to make me look at myself that way and the therapy I went through, years ago now, did nothing to dispel this image of whose feet the blame lays at.