Bi-Polar aka Manic-Depressive Disorder, is a painful and hard way to live one's life. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Not ever. I can't remember a time in my life when I wasn't suffering at least a degree of internal pain. No words can explain it, nor did there have to be a reason. The pain was just there, eating away at my heart like a slow, but destructive cancer. To those who do not suffer from this disorder, this disease, it is not something easily understood, if it is even ever understood. How do you explain, when things are going well, that you are just unhappy, just sad, just hurt deep inside? You can't and eventually you just stop trying.
People will call you crazy, mentally unstable, insane...Yet you are not any of these. You know what you are going through, the hell you are unintentionally putting others through. You know it all, the highs and the lows, the joys and the sadness, the feelings of euphoria and the feelings of utter and complete despair; the elated feelings of goodness and good will and then the frustration, the irritability and even the rage...and yet, you can do nothing about any of those feelings. They are just there; they are just a part of you that you can not control.
The doctors and the shrinks prescribe a cocktail of mind and mood altering drugs that actually do some of us more harm than good. You are either so zombied out that you can't feel anything except the drug, or you fall farther and deeper into the darkness until everything goes out, even your very life.
I've been to both places and it scared the hell out of me! I'm smart enough to know that I'm not crazy and I've been evaluated enough times by professionals that they would agree. Yet the medications did alter my thought processes to the point that I truly thought I was losing my mind. Getting off those drugs was harder than the months and months it took to try and get me regulated, despite my body and brain screaming, "FORGET IT! WE'LL NEVER SURRENDER WITHOUT A FIGHT!" The last time I finally got off the meds, I swore, "Never again!" And, I meant it. It's not been easy, but I'd rather have my sanity as I struggle through the disorder than be so medicated I am uncertain who I even am.
Most days, most weeks, sometimes I can even go months, I'm good. I can keep the sadness and the depression at bay. I like being able to feel, even if the feelings aren't always good. I like being in control of myself, at least to some degree, and making decisions based upon who I am without meds as opposed to who I didn't recognize while taking them. But sometimes, the stresses of life sort of sneak up on me and before I realize what is happening, I have a 'flare' and down I go.
So, I crawl into my shell and keep everyone at arm's length because what no one seems to understand is that a simple word or act can be a trigger for me. Something that seems 100% benign to you may be the catalyst that brings on severe depression for me. For this reason, I learn to stay away from just about everyone except my immediate family.
You see, I don't have to worry about whether they love me or not. I don't have to worry if they find me good enough, if they find me smart enough, if they find me worth a dime. I know that they do and I am safe with them. But it's not so with many others out there. Not so at all.
Yeah, I'm super sensitive...to words, to deeds, to nuances, to the looks that people give. I'm super sensitive to criticism as well because, you see, I am already my own worst critic.
Truth is, it's easier for me to write words and never know if anyone disagrees with them. It's easier for me to hide behind a computer keyboard and screen than have to deal with people face to face because I fear that I won't be good enough face to face.
Truth is, I'm not.
If I were then why is it that I have not had a single close friend for any length of time in the past 20 something years; a friend that would drop in for coffee and sit and visit for hours, or a friend that I could go shopping or 'do' lunch with, just a friend to hang out with? (Not including my husband and my kids, that is.)
If I was worth a damn, there would be someone out there that I could seriously call my best friend.
And so, this life and this disorder makes for a very lonely life. Very lonely, indeed.
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