been awhile, but, this is how it goes for us BPD's, right?
we're online, we're offline...and i don't necessarily mean via the computer.
Lately, I have this unaccessible place. I can't seem to get to it. I know it's in me, because I feel it there. It's like spilled milk on a floor. It's disturbing when you can't mop it up, but its not going to wreck your day. Unless, of course, you are bipolar and simply tend to dwell aimlessly on things like spilled milk. It's a sign. It means your day is ruined. Don't go out, lay in bed all day and just cry...over spilled milk. God, completely cliche...but it's true for me. There are about seven hundred things I need to do today. I won't get any of them done. I will dwell on their existence. I know they are there, because like the spill on the floor, it is bothering me. I have no motivation to do any of them. None. It took every ounce of will I had to get on this computer just to write this.
Sometimes, a complete brain dump helps. Spewing everything onto "paper" to be read and read again will make me realize what I am going through right now. I have no real reason to be depressed right now, save for a bunch of historical ones.
Oh, those with BPD...we are so good at remembering the dates, times and places that the worst things in our lives have occurred. We are excellent at filing away those sort of things, to drag out on any given day...so we have a reason to point at it and say "THIS is why I am depressed today". Even when you know you are bipolar, it is still easier to point at someone or something and say, "that's the reason".
We aren't very good at accepting responsibility for our disease...mainly because we didn't ask for it. How can you take blame for something you never asked for?
I have a beautiful family. I have friends. I have an amazing love affair with the man I married five years ago. Eight years together haven't remotely dimmed our love for one another. I have a nursing license. I have a mother who, despite making me insane, gives me good blog fodder. I have a large home with two dogs, two cats and an acre of property for them to run around in. I have four cars on my driveway. My husband earns enough so that I don't have to work again right away. So, why be depressed?
Why the hell not. Not a question. A statement.
Why the hell not.
I am mentally ill. I am sick. If I had cancer, no one would question my long days in bed, my lack of motivation and my inability to be happy. They would all "tsk tsk" and "Oh that poor thing, she's so young." I know this. I've been there. I've had cancer. I handled it. I got through it, despite my depression and in spite of myself. I was more interested in standing up back then. I was more determined to get out of bed. I wasn't going to let this physicality beat me into submission.
So why can't I find that same empowerment with my bipolar disorder?
Simple. Lack of desire. I don't want to fight it. I want to lay down and die because of it.
Truth be known, I am tired of fighting. There's no glory in surrendering to it, but I am so tired of fighting that I feel I am entitled to lay down. I am on so much medication it is almost embarassing. That embarassment amplifies when I realize it isn't helping very much. 200 mgs of Lamictal, 40 mgs of Prozac and now, add to that concoction 40 mgs of Geodon. Know what that is? Nope, neither did I...and I am a nurse.
Geodon is a medication that helps treat schizophrenia. Yes. Schizophrenia. Hearing things that aren't there. Seeing things that aren't there. Feeling things you shouldn't.
Thankfully, it is also used to treat EXTREME rapid cycling BPD with heavy depressive episodes. Yeah. My hero. I took it last night. Woke up feeling like a truck hit me. You don't know how I just want to put the brakes on ALL of this shit. Throw them ALL away and take my mania back. I loved being manic. I had no problem with it, save for the reckless and stupid things I did now and then because of it. The mania leaves, for the most part...and all you have to dance with is your depression. And, the depression becomes your mania. Does that make sense to anyone else but me? Your depression is now your HIGH...but it's the opposite. Its the high end of low. It's crushing me, stealing my breath and making my life worse. My last manic episode occured around the time of my nursing boards. Thank God for that. I wouldn't have passed, if I felt like this back then.
But I miss it. I miss the insanity of it. I miss staying up until all hours of the night, motivated, electric and energetic. I am sluggish. I am tired. I am so bad that I am unable to cry right now. That's not a good thing. I believe that a cathartic cry now and then is actually a good thing. It lets out the monster within. Heals you a little.
I am listening to George Michael. His ballads, believe it or not, help me to write. They are sad, dark, painful...and they match my mood. His voice is soothing to me. He sings with agony in his voice. I bet he's bipolar too, based on his life...or at least, what the news tells us about his life. But, there is something so relatable and comfortable about being around other manic depressives. We "get" each other. We don't feel sorry for each other. We are so desperate to make a mark in our own lives that we love to help others. We are very good at dispensing advice to others that we wouldn't dare consider for ourselves.
"'Cause losing everything is like the sun going down on me..."
When we reach out and help someone else, we find our own self worth in that. Look! Look what I can do! I can help someone else! I'm not the worthless piece of shit I thought I was! I am capable and competant! I can make a difference. People want to hear me, share with me and let me validate them!
So why can't do that for myself?
Narcissism, I think. To remove our pain removes our uniqueness. Makes us like everyone else.
"No one can possibly fix me because I am just utterly broken beyond repair. Sure, I can fix you...you aren't nearly as bad off as I am. But fix me? Ha. Can't be done. I've had dozens of doctors attempt to...and they all fail miserably. Why would YOU think you can fix ME?? Do you not see how intelligent and amazing I am? I am so far beyond your Harvard education! Besides, I know everything there is to know about BPD. Far more than YOU do, Mr. Psychiatrist...and, if I could dispense my own medications, I wouldn't even need you! Do you not see my greatness?"
Then, depression hits and we are banging on the same door we walked away from a week earlier.
Please. Medication. Talk to me. Make me whole again. I can't do this alone.
Then again, would we have even gotten out of bed for our appointment anyway?
we're online, we're offline...and i don't necessarily mean via the computer.
Lately, I have this unaccessible place. I can't seem to get to it. I know it's in me, because I feel it there. It's like spilled milk on a floor. It's disturbing when you can't mop it up, but its not going to wreck your day. Unless, of course, you are bipolar and simply tend to dwell aimlessly on things like spilled milk. It's a sign. It means your day is ruined. Don't go out, lay in bed all day and just cry...over spilled milk. God, completely cliche...but it's true for me. There are about seven hundred things I need to do today. I won't get any of them done. I will dwell on their existence. I know they are there, because like the spill on the floor, it is bothering me. I have no motivation to do any of them. None. It took every ounce of will I had to get on this computer just to write this.
Sometimes, a complete brain dump helps. Spewing everything onto "paper" to be read and read again will make me realize what I am going through right now. I have no real reason to be depressed right now, save for a bunch of historical ones.
Oh, those with BPD...we are so good at remembering the dates, times and places that the worst things in our lives have occurred. We are excellent at filing away those sort of things, to drag out on any given day...so we have a reason to point at it and say "THIS is why I am depressed today". Even when you know you are bipolar, it is still easier to point at someone or something and say, "that's the reason".
We aren't very good at accepting responsibility for our disease...mainly because we didn't ask for it. How can you take blame for something you never asked for?
I have a beautiful family. I have friends. I have an amazing love affair with the man I married five years ago. Eight years together haven't remotely dimmed our love for one another. I have a nursing license. I have a mother who, despite making me insane, gives me good blog fodder. I have a large home with two dogs, two cats and an acre of property for them to run around in. I have four cars on my driveway. My husband earns enough so that I don't have to work again right away. So, why be depressed?
Why the hell not. Not a question. A statement.
Why the hell not.
I am mentally ill. I am sick. If I had cancer, no one would question my long days in bed, my lack of motivation and my inability to be happy. They would all "tsk tsk" and "Oh that poor thing, she's so young." I know this. I've been there. I've had cancer. I handled it. I got through it, despite my depression and in spite of myself. I was more interested in standing up back then. I was more determined to get out of bed. I wasn't going to let this physicality beat me into submission.
So why can't I find that same empowerment with my bipolar disorder?
Simple. Lack of desire. I don't want to fight it. I want to lay down and die because of it.
Truth be known, I am tired of fighting. There's no glory in surrendering to it, but I am so tired of fighting that I feel I am entitled to lay down. I am on so much medication it is almost embarassing. That embarassment amplifies when I realize it isn't helping very much. 200 mgs of Lamictal, 40 mgs of Prozac and now, add to that concoction 40 mgs of Geodon. Know what that is? Nope, neither did I...and I am a nurse.
Geodon is a medication that helps treat schizophrenia. Yes. Schizophrenia. Hearing things that aren't there. Seeing things that aren't there. Feeling things you shouldn't.
Thankfully, it is also used to treat EXTREME rapid cycling BPD with heavy depressive episodes. Yeah. My hero. I took it last night. Woke up feeling like a truck hit me. You don't know how I just want to put the brakes on ALL of this shit. Throw them ALL away and take my mania back. I loved being manic. I had no problem with it, save for the reckless and stupid things I did now and then because of it. The mania leaves, for the most part...and all you have to dance with is your depression. And, the depression becomes your mania. Does that make sense to anyone else but me? Your depression is now your HIGH...but it's the opposite. Its the high end of low. It's crushing me, stealing my breath and making my life worse. My last manic episode occured around the time of my nursing boards. Thank God for that. I wouldn't have passed, if I felt like this back then.
But I miss it. I miss the insanity of it. I miss staying up until all hours of the night, motivated, electric and energetic. I am sluggish. I am tired. I am so bad that I am unable to cry right now. That's not a good thing. I believe that a cathartic cry now and then is actually a good thing. It lets out the monster within. Heals you a little.
I am listening to George Michael. His ballads, believe it or not, help me to write. They are sad, dark, painful...and they match my mood. His voice is soothing to me. He sings with agony in his voice. I bet he's bipolar too, based on his life...or at least, what the news tells us about his life. But, there is something so relatable and comfortable about being around other manic depressives. We "get" each other. We don't feel sorry for each other. We are so desperate to make a mark in our own lives that we love to help others. We are very good at dispensing advice to others that we wouldn't dare consider for ourselves.
"'Cause losing everything is like the sun going down on me..."
When we reach out and help someone else, we find our own self worth in that. Look! Look what I can do! I can help someone else! I'm not the worthless piece of shit I thought I was! I am capable and competant! I can make a difference. People want to hear me, share with me and let me validate them!
So why can't do that for myself?
Narcissism, I think. To remove our pain removes our uniqueness. Makes us like everyone else.
"No one can possibly fix me because I am just utterly broken beyond repair. Sure, I can fix you...you aren't nearly as bad off as I am. But fix me? Ha. Can't be done. I've had dozens of doctors attempt to...and they all fail miserably. Why would YOU think you can fix ME?? Do you not see how intelligent and amazing I am? I am so far beyond your Harvard education! Besides, I know everything there is to know about BPD. Far more than YOU do, Mr. Psychiatrist...and, if I could dispense my own medications, I wouldn't even need you! Do you not see my greatness?"
Then, depression hits and we are banging on the same door we walked away from a week earlier.
Please. Medication. Talk to me. Make me whole again. I can't do this alone.
Then again, would we have even gotten out of bed for our appointment anyway?
7 comments:
amen sister!
hey cp, thanks for stopping by and commenting... doesn't sound like you're much in the mood to be sociable - so i really appreciate it.
you are an extraordinary person, you know yourself quite well and are very articulate... glad i followed you back to your blog. i'll have to bookmark you if you don't mind.
spring is coming... i would imagine it can't come soon enough for you, but i'm sure you'll be feeling better then if not sooner!
anon - Amen, indeed.
Anon Mom - I want you to know, should you come back here, that despite my feeling "non-social" as you (very kindly) put it...I read every single post on your blog.
God, where were you when I was a little girl?
May every child who is struggling with BPD be blessed with a mother like you. I read every single word. Rob is so lucky. He'll realize it someday. He may even know that now. :)
CP.
You talked about missing your manias. From experience I can tell you that hypomanias get less enjoyable as you get older, and more often take the form of pure mania. To me, mania is more dangerous than depression. Mania can take the form of psychosis, with unpredictable bahavior, explosive emotions, self medication, and brain activity that is unbearable. Hypomanias were fun, and I wish I could experience them again. But they're just not there anymore.
When that right medication is found, life will get enjoyable again. I guarantee it.
Hugs to you Missy.
I am feeling depressed and blue too so I can relate. I do not have BPD so I only get the depression without the benefit of the mania, ever.
I know you will feel better when they find the right drug cocktail for you. Don't give up!
Love you!
Jon...when you get older they get worse? I'm already 40!!! Am I getting set up for some geriatric streaking/keg parties or something?
Heh. I know what you mean...and I know you know what I mean too. The hypomanias, the feeling of invincibility? That's the part I miss...not the erratic unpredictable behavior that accompanies it.
Jodi love, I hate that you are feeling sad. Take care of you. We have a blogathon to do in July again! *hugs*
CP
There are so many pearls of wisdom in what you wrote. For me, depression is familiar, it's comfortable. You're right, we have to fight, to struggle & it does get tiring. Especially when we know even if we're victorious this 1 fight, there's another one around the corner.
Did I tell you Tom Wootton is publishing another book called: The Depression Advantage. I think I told you. I can't wait for it to come out!
CP, you're going thru a LOT right now. IMHO, you're doing exceptionally well.
I used to be on Prozac, it's 1 of the few meds that don't make you gain weight. I tried Geodon too & forget why, but I couldn't take it.
You remember you're loved, you're liked, you're admired!
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