Discouragement

Being true to my word about posting about both the ups and downs of living with bipolar disorder, I have to share about how I feel today, which is the down side of this insidious disorder. I swear, if this thing were a physical entity (I picture it like a dragon, spewing fire out of its mouth, always there, always trying to destroy everything good in my life), I would take both my hands, wrap them around its neck, and choke the very life out of it, for what it has done, and continues to do to me. I hate this thing. I hate it with everything in me. I mean, I know I wrote that post about what's good about bipolar and all, and even tried to be humorous about it, but today is just one of those days that I just hate having bipolar so much...today it is just so hard to be me. I want to go back to bed, pull the covers over my head, and pretend that I don't exist. I just want a day off from my life, just one normal day, when I don't have to fight this stupid thing. It's a neverending battle, and I don't ever get a break. I never get a vacation. It is always there. Always. And it always will be. I will never be cured.

I feel like a hypocrite today--having posted and preached all these encouraging words and written articles to y'all...and here I don't even follow my own advice, feeling discouraged, depressed and full of self-pity today. Why can't I walk what I talk? I can't even follow my own advice when I'm like this. I want to scream, this isn't me! This is the bipolar, not me! I want to be happy. I don't want to be depressed. By nature I am an encourager. But what happens when the encourager becomes discouraged?

I just want to sleep...to sleep for as long as it takes for them to fix what's wrong in my brain... so that when I wake up, like Rip Van Winkle, I would awaken to a cure--a normal brain, a normal life, a normal me. I hate having bipolar disorder. I hate being different. I hate never knowing when it will spring up and surprise me, and just when I think things are going so well, my house of cards will come crashing down around me. It's like walking on a tightrope every day of your life. And the best that you can hope for is a somewhat extended period of stability, of balance. But still, deep inside, you are wary every day, watching for all those little signs that something is amiss.

And if you dare to have a relationship, or get married, it is even harder, and you keep everything hidden, because you are scared of losing that someone because of your bipolar. So you learn to fake it. To smile when you are depressed. To cry silent tears on your pillow at night after everyone else has fallen asleep. To write your deepest thoughts in a journal that no one else will ever read. And to take your medication religiously, so at least it won't get any worse than it already is. And each day you wake up, you hope today will be better than yesterday was.

That's how I've been feeling the past week. Like I'm on a rollercoaster, and bipolar is at the controls. Up and down. I'm back on my meds, so the episode is over.... but I am still feeling residual effects. Or maybe it isn't the bipolar at all. Oh my gosh, what if it isn't the disorder? What if I'm just a b-tch? Someone wrote on my blog about their husband who is bipolar, and asked how do they know how much is their husband's bipolar, and how much is just his personality? And now I wonder the same about myself. My emotions are off the wall...and now I, too, am afraid to tell anyone what's really going on in my head, for fear of the consequences.

The biggest fear I have right now is that the bipolar, my greatest enemy, that hidden enemy that attacks my very mind so that I have no real defense against it, has become greater than the medication I am taking to fight it. That the medication I have been taking for two years is no longer working. But it has to work! It's my only chance! My last chance! All the other medications have failed! I live each day petrified that one day the medicine will just stop working, because that will mean I will have to have ECT. And I am sort of attached to my memory, and really don't want to lose even a small part of it.

I am so depressed today. I thought I was doing so well. I thought I had this thing under control. I had hoped things were on an uphill swing, that I could look forward to another 2 yrs (or, dare I even hope, more than 2 yrs?) of stability and balance in my life. And I may still--this could just be a depressed day. One single day. And I may just be overreacting to it. At least I hope that's it.

So I will fake it till I make it. I will choose to believe that this is just a bad bipolar day (they do happen here and there, and don't necessarily mean another episode)--and I will stay home, stay safe, and take the extra anti-anxiety pill my psychiatrist prescribed to have on-hand just for times like these, and I will close myself up in my room, and will try to read a book, or write in my journal, and I will cry as much as I need to, and I will hide from the world for as long as I need to, and I will let the answering machine pick up my calls, because I cannot talk to anyone right now. And I will wait out this storm, choosing to believe it is only temporary. Because anything else is just too overwhelming for me right now. I realize that I am not perfect. And that just by nature of the disorder itself, I will have bad days with the good, and that this is just a bad day. And bad days do happen.

So until I find out otherwise (which I truly hope I don't), I will believe that this is just a bad day. That's all, just a bad day. Even "normal" people get them. And I will get through it. I always have before. So I will accept that I am not perfect. And I will give myself a break today. The house can wait to be cleaned for another day. The dishes can be done tomorrow. The world will not stop just because I do not participate in it today. And I will hope that tomorow will be better. Even the Bible says, "Weeping may come for a night, but joy comes in the morning."