Haven't been to this blog in a very long time and since it's time/date stamped, well, there's just no getting away from the truth.
It's also interesting to return after such a long period of time. The days, and cumulatively, my past, quickly fade away into a mist, leaving it unclear and shadowy. It is one reason I blog and write and have about 50 partially-filled journals lying around the house. To remember.
The other is to allow the poison inside to ooze out. I'm afraid, that if I didn't let it ooze out and kept it all inside, it would eventually consume me and I wouldn't be me anymore.
So this post, this reminder of my blog, is to share my latest experience. This one is about the depressive side of bipolar disorder.
I posted the below on FB to a limited group of friends. Any time I write about my illness and my experiences, I am hopeful there is just one single person I can touch. Not touch as in a feel-sorry-for-poor-pitiful-Karen way. But touch, as in, bringing awareness and understanding to those that do not have the capacity to fully understand (e.g., non-afflicted) so they can help those around them that are already fully aware and understand because they do experience it.
A very dear friend of mine commented on my FB note and what she said touched me and reminded me of this blog. Then I realized, I was able to touch, the way I wanted to touch, another person with that one note. That would be my dream. If I can touch just one person and bring them awareness or understanding, then I feel validated. Thank you so much, Dee, for seeing me and not judging me. For being open to understanding and for your compassion. Thank you for inspiring me. For reminding me of something I had forgotten.
If I can express what I experience in a way that those who feel the same things can relate to, then I am no longer alone because one more person saw me and truly understood me in a way that friends and loved ones can't, no matter how hard they try. And, hopefully, that person doesn't feel so alone either.
So, the blog is and always will be here. I'll pop in and out as life and moods dictate. Heh, kinda sounds bipolar, don't it? haha
Here's the FB note. I offer this to you.
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I once saw a Swami who is a very intelligent and wise man. He spoke in parables, much like Jesus did. He would always start with, "A little story..."
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So, I share with you now, "a little story". I am not sharing this with everyone and if you are one I chose to share with, please, please respect my privacy and do NOT share this with anyone. If you cannot make me that promise now, please do NOT continue reading. Also, if you cannot read this with an open mind, stop here now.
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The below may be shocking for some, sound self-pitying to others, crazy (haha), thought-provoking (hopefully!), or, even better, enlightening. Enlightening about the intense struggle with bipolar disorder.
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I don't tell just anyone about my diagnosis. Most just don't understanding. I hope that what I've written will help those who read it gain more insight into the rollercoaster of the mind. What I have written is not specifically about bipolar, but more about the period of depression. Anyone who has ridden that dark train, or, as Dexter so eloquently and accurately describes it, with our "Dark Passenger", understands.
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I recently had the worst crash I have had in many, many years. It was frightening in its intensity alone. After an approximately 2 month build up (or is that down?) I crashed. Hard. I literally do not remember 2-1/2 days of my life. No memory at all. Just red-blood rage, anger and hatred. The desire to smash and destroy conflicting with the need to love and nurtrue.
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Thank everything that is available to show gratitude toward, I have Troy. When I was falling apart, when I felt as if I would splinter into a million little pieces and like Humpty Dumpty, never put them back together again, Troy lay next to me for hours and just held me tight, kept me safe. Keeping me from falling deeper into that hole and shattering on the floor. Losing myself. Forgetting who I am. That I am loved. That I am safe. That I am NOT alone in this struggle.
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I am doing much better now. I'm coming out of the hole, the dark tunnel, the abyss again. It will be back. But, each time, I will kick and fight until I come back out the other side. There is talk of suicide in the below, but please do not be alarmed. The thought is not present now. And, yes, I am taking my medication (I NEVER miss it!), AND I have an appointment with my new psychiatrist Monday. So, all is well.
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Also, I am not looking for "kudo" comments or anything else. I want to know I've reached you, touched you, and just maybe, gave you a little, tiny glimpse into our lives as bipolars.
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This was written the morning after I broke. I wrote it without edit and just let the words flow from my fingertips. It is raw, but it is from my soul.
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Depression ...
Imagine a deep, deep, dark, black hole and you are in the bottom of it. If it were earthen, you might feel safe, as in a womb. But it is not earthen.
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It is a black substance you cannot describe. It surrounds you, not like a warm and comforting blanket, but smothering. You cannot breath, therefore you cannot scream. You cannot see, your eyes are gaping in the darkness that surrounds you. You are cold and yet you do not shiver. The cold you feel is not on your skin, but deep in your soul. As if you have lost yourself, but don't even realize it because you no longer have an identity.
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The only thing you have are the tortorous words that circle endlessly in your mind and the tears that slide down your cheeks, angrily consumed by the hatred that surrounds you.
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No one can reach you. You hear words, you hear the phone, but it is as if it is far away and just the buzz of an insect. You are too tired to interpret and too weary to answer the phone.
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How does one describe losing their sanity? Feeling a rage consume you for no other reason than pure hatred pouring out of you. Not knowing up from down and left from right. Thinking you can actually move and lift a 120-lb TV from a dresser onto an armoire that is 6-feet tall. Looking at the bruises on your arms and knees in the morning and wondering where in the world they came from. Completely forgetting about the TV you almost dropped on yourself.
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Losing track of time. Feeling lost in your head. Like you don't know yourself or anyone else any more. Fear. Anxiety. Panic. You never know when or if you will come out the other side because you don't even realize you have a momentary lapse of sanity, until you come out the other side. You never know what will save you. You never know what to expect afterward.
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I am fortunate. I had someone to hold me and say nothing. Just hold me tight, exactly how I needed to be held tight so I could keep myself together, so I wouldn't fall apart. Thank God I have him. Thoughts of death had already begun to dance in my mind, so pretty in all that black. I hadn't seen the dancers in years.
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Now I have to decide what to tell my boss who scheduled a 10 AM meeting with me shortly after reading the email I sent stating I would be out of the office yesterday. Should I tell her? Will she understand? Instinct says not. Or is it fear?
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This is life for someone with a mental illness. Sometimes we can act just like everyone else and you never know we are there. But when we break, when we can't keep it together for reasons beyond our control, then you see us. You see us and you judge us.
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Because you don't know what it's like to live with a Dark Passenger who can take control whenever it likes. You can never know. I'm glad you don't and hopefully never will. I wouldn't wish this on anyone.
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What I wish is people could be more compassionate when someone says they have a mental illness. They could feel the same compassion for someone mentally ill as they do for someone who has a heart attack or is diabetic.
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I wish mental illness didn't exist.
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But it does. And we continue to hide. In the darkness.
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And we do.
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I share this now because it is raw. As quickly as possible I scramble from these moments in my life, putting as much distance as possibly, so I can once again, fool myself into thinking, I'm just like everyone else.
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Sane.
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