The Truth

You know it’s funny, when I started writing this I wrote a bunch of bullshit and fluff because I can never be real about my illness. I hate it. It has ruined my life. I can’t work fulltime, and I constantly have to explain myself to people who don’t know I have an illness, or that don’t understand mental illness. I was 27 when I was finally diagnosed. I lived with it for years before ever seeing a doctor for the symptoms.

When I was 14 I thought I could fly. As in I would actually run, stretch my arms out, and flap them really fast, imagining I was flying. I had my first bout of depression after I came down. I didn’t understand what was going on. I just knew I was so unhappy. I tried to commit suicide. My step-brother thought I did it to get attention. My dad probably did too. I don’t know, he wasn’t a talker and when he did, it was never anything serious. My mom took it very seriously though – she has always looked out for me.

I don’t remember a lot of it. Maybe it’s better that way

Over the course of my teen years I experienced many things as I was a drug user and drank heavily. I don’t remember a lot of it. Maybe it’s better that way. I’m still not sure at this point.

At 26 my life changed. I spiraled into a mania. I was flying high for almost a year before I saw a doctor for it. I didn’t understand what was going on.  I couldn’t sleep, I cleaned nonstop, I watched TV for hours, I would bake or cook all night. I was like a machine – I didn’t NEED sleep. Once in a while I would crash for a day or so and then be right back at it. The house was never so clean and organized. I had so much energy. But with the energy came hallucinations – there were kids playing in my living room at 3 in the morning (mine were sleeping), and once I thought I saw an old lady standing beside my bed staring at me, it was so real that even thinking about it now scares me.

I had never met this man before that day, and he ruined my life

Then the drinking started. The wild nights, things I would never normally do, I did. I cheated on my husband. I told him what happened and he took me to our family doctor who sent me to see a psychiatrist. Bipolar disorder – those were his words. I had never met this man before that day, and he ruined my life by telling me that I was sick and there is no cure.

Trying to wrap my screwed up brain around the thought of me having a mental illness didn’t sit well. I was sick, and did horrible things. I didn’t want this. I just wanted my life back. I was on long-term disability and after 2 years I ended up losing my position of 8 years with the government.

Fighting this fight everyday, checking in with myself and asking “how am I today?” before I even get out of bed. And then checking in during the day, remembering to eat healthy and exercising. Not drinking too much alcohol – a glass of wine is all you need. These constant self-checks – it’s exhausting.

There are days I just can’t get out of bed. I am so tired, even though I slept for 14 hours. Or the days I can’t get dressed because, I don’t even know why. I question myself sometimes if maybe it’s because I am lazy. I hear it enough from people, maybe it’s true.

I had no intention on coming back that day

Recently, I decided I’d had enough. I kissed my husband and told him I was running to the grocery store for some things for dinner. What he didn’t know is I took every prescription drug I had in the house with me. I had no intention on coming back that day. I left and filled up with gas, I had no idea where I was going. I just drove. I ended up at my dad’s 5 hours north of the city. Only to realize, he died… 2 years ago. I had so many prescription drugs in my system I don’t remember the conversation with my step-mom and step-sister. I drove for another hour north to the next big city and ended up getting pulled over by an RCMP officer.

My husband had put out a missing person report. If that police officer didn’t pull me over I wouldn’t be here today – I had been looking for access to a bridge.

I ended up in the hospital for a week. And on very close supervision by my husband, mom, and children for the next month or two. I am now stable again. Until the next time.

Having bipolar disorder for the past 11 years has taught me so much that it can’t all be said in one piece. But one thing I have learned recently, I don’t have to do it alone.