There was nothing wrong with me. Hey- I was practically perfect; outgoing, a good student, happy most of the time. I wasn't without my bad moods and stress, but that was all normal. That's what I was- I was normal.
My fiance would ask every now and then if I was okay. I didn't think much of it- he was just being nice checking on me. I was pretty lucky to have him. Unlike a lot of men today, I got one who was sensitive as well as strong. He would notice subtle changes in my mood before even I did. This continued after we were married. He started asking too much- always assuming something was wrong. I was fine- nothing was wrong with me... maybe he didn't really want to be married to me. He couldn't seem to accept me for who I was. I was getting a bit frustrated.
Finally, I started noticing things: I would lock myself in the bathroom and cry for hours, or do nothing but lie on the couch for a week. We decided it might be depression and went to the doctor to get some medication to help me through it. On the day I was to take the first pill, I felt the desperate need to take a pregnancy test. It was positive.
See? I knew I was normal! I dismissed all my "symptoms" and did my best to move forward.
Then my husband was diagnosed with Hodgekins Lymphoma in 2009, and started chemo treatment. I tried to distract myself as much as I could (did a complete home makeover for a friend of mine- painted every room in the house, bought second hand furniture with my own money to add, I made curtains and bed coverings and new art pieces for them) ... I just thought of it as natural to distract myself. There were some scary moments, too. When my husband had to be checked into the hospital, and called me later that evening saying that he thought he was going to die and he didn't want to die alone. His oxygen had dropped really low and the nurses had to come in- rushing around him to get him hooked up to oxygen. Another time, I was driving my little baby boy around so he would nap, and so many times, I wanted desperately to drive into oncoming traffic. My boy was the only thing keeping me from actually doing it. I didn't see the warning signs in my behavior or thoughts.
Finally, when treatment was over and Jake was pronounced "in remission"... I crashed. I had another couple of weeks where I did nothing but lie on the couch and watch movies. I'm not sure I even showered at all during that time. I don't know why this time was different... maybe the whole cancer experience finally broke me down... but I finally realized that my behavior was not normal.
We went back to the family doctor, told him what was going on. He said he had an idea what was going on, but to be sure, I should keep a journal for a month. He wanted me to write down my moods, and any behavior that didn't seem to be normal. So I did. After that month, the Doc asked me what I found. I told him, and he said I had a classic case of Bipolar 2, and prescribed me some medicine. I don't remember anything else he might of said. He just told me I had a mental illness- It rang in my head and drown out anything else he tried to tell me.
That was that. Suddenly I was not only imperfect, but completely broken... and at that time, the only way to help (cuz, oh yeah, not only is there no cure... this is something that you are burdened with for the rest of your life) is a bunch of pills you have to try until you find some that help your moods a little without completely screwing you over with their side effects. That was the only thing I could do. So for years, I would periodically change my meds or add to the cocktail through the family doctor cuz that's all I knew how to do.
It wasn't until I was planning my suicide that I finally got to a neuropsychiatric hospital where they taught me some of the other things I could do to help. They found me a psychiatrist and a therapist. After switching therapists to find one that would listen to me better, I started learning about all the different self-care and coping skills that would work for me. And now continue to research and learn what it means to take care of myself.
I'm now at a point where I recognize what is Bipolar and what is me. I still have times where I lay on the couch for long periods of time because I just can't function. I also still have times where I try to do a million projects at once because I feel invincible and my brain goes a mile a minute coming up with new "genius" ideas. But I have learned to recognize them and try to minimize the destruction I can cause unchecked.
But for the most part, I can finally see the normal me again. Far from perfect, but not completely broken.
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