I can see the world around me. The trees, the lakes, the beautiful snow. I can see the children playing, laughing and so. I can see the couples hand in hand, the snow covered beach sand. I can see the beautiful houses sitting a row, I can see the wildlife such as a doe. Most of all I can see happiness and it makes me weep. You see I live in this glass house where I can see it all but I cannot experience it. I feel torture and anguish, suffering and torment. I can even see life in front of me.
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Jumping off my balcony, abusing drugs, walking down the middle of a highway and neglecting meds. That’s how I use to ring in the New Year and wish my family a Merry Christmas. Since I’ve been diagnosed bipolar in 2011 I’ve found that once the Christmas season hits, I start to experience relapses. I could be as stable as a seamstress going into the holidays but just the anticipation of knowing they are arriving brings such great distress to my life. I mean it’s such a jolly time of year; I hate always being the one to ruin Christmas and New Year for everyone.
Since I was diagnosed bipolar I’ve found myself in a constant cycle. I remain compliant with medications and avoid substances and I enjoy euphoria and life for that matter. However, the second I deviate from my prospective recovery regimen everything goes awry and I’m left institutionalized.
The concept of a therapist seemed rather peculiar to me. For one, of course this total stranger was going to listen to all of your banter for the lump sum of $100/hour; I think most of us would to the same. And for second, why would you want to banter about the darkness of your inner and outer mind to a complete stranger. Due to the fact I was only 20 when I started therapy I was highly reluctant towards what any professional had to say let alone a therapist.
I woke up on Thursday, September 4th and the torture struck instantly. My head filled up like a water balloon, except it wasn't water I was filled with, it was disturbing, bizarre, negative and pesky thoughts. I recognized immediately from waking up I was unwell, but I proceeded onto my daily life. By Monday night the feelings both physically and mentally were so overpowering. I was no longer in control of my own fate. My mind had made up its’ own mind and was about to take my body prisoner too. I felt nothing, I was scared of nothing.
Since I can remember I have always been an extremely impulsive person. Even before my diagnosis of Bipolar. I would spend large amounts of money without even a drop of perspiration or a sense of regret. I took diet pills in hopes to shed large amounts of weight as fast as possible (I was not overweight). I would do ridiculous detoxes that had me drinking a lemon tea cocktail 6-8 times a day with absolutely no food for 7-10 days. I would erupt and punch holes in walls, break glasses, break countless phones on any immediate aggravating situation.
It's only a 4 letter word. It's a terrific motivator. It determines whether or not I think life is worth living. And if it's lacking it's awfully hard to move on with daily tasks. Yes I am talking about hope. It's funny how quickly my concept of hope changes. But today I am feeling overly optimistic.
I at first didn't even know how to spell the word, let alone understand the proper definition of it. But today, well today I made huge strides into my recovery. You see, the past two days have been rather rocky. No real particular reason why, perhaps too much caffeine as I've had a monster each day and perhaps the fact I missed medications last night. But I think the main reason is life is rocky. There is no right answer and no right way to live life. Everyone has their off days and so these past 2 days I've experienced off days.
When I was in the beginning stages of being diagnosed bipolar most people wrote me off. They thought this girl’s out of school, she can’t keep a job and she certainly cannot contribute to society. I was a self-fulfilling prophecy in a sense I thought I was worthless and so I became worthless. I was out of school for just shy of 3 years and I couldn’t keep a job even if it was the last job left on this planet. I was a substance abuser and my life became unbearable.
While my blog started out as a place to vent and rave I have discovered that by just regurgitating my daily events I am no longer getting much out of it. As a result I have decided to change my blog into a more 'self-help' place where I can share my thoughts about a semi-daily topic and share my personal experiences. I thought no better way to start this new trend off than the topic of the day, how to deal with a diagnosis. Being diagnosed with a mental illness often resembles getting a new phone.