Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Me. In A "Nut"-Shell

This was inevitable. I can try to sweep it under the rug, and pretend it's not really a problem but in truth it is. I've tried to make excuses and pretend that it's really just depression, but it's not. Depression meds work, but all they really do is make the lows more bearable.

I am bi-polar.

There it has been said. I tried to justify these behaviors and issues when I was younger as hormones, and situation based. Now, it's becoming quite clear there are no excuses to be made for what this is.

I swim in a sea in my head. Thoughts fly at me, through me. I can't catch my breath. I go at 95 down a highway of ideas and emotions. I am irrational and explosive. I seek rushes that compare to the rush that is going on inside of me. I feel an actual NEED to spend money. I am erratic, and unfocused. I can't sleep. When I do, I dream of forgetting my high school locker combination, and horse back riding in the desert. I start 1,000 projects to leave them all in 1/2 completion. I feel beautiful, and like a ballerina. I want to talk to everyone and everything all the time, but fear if I do they will realize that something is off or that I will blurt out something completely insensitive. I want constant stimulation, and to never be alone. It's like running in a marathon of thoughts that never quits. This is manic. It makes me decide to start internet cooking shows, and update my FB 7 times a day, and start businesses. Don't even get me started on what it does to my phobias. I become that lady that swabs her fingers clean with alcohol swabs every 10 minutes. It's bad.

Why am I not on a medication for it? Because those meds are dangerous when you are pregnant, or trying to become pregnant. When we left to go to England I weened off of the meds because I knew I wouldn't be able to get the same meds once we were there. Then, the depression became unbearable and so I decided while we were there, that I would treat the depression portion of my illness. It's kind of like putting a bandaid on a cut that needs stitches. It will hold in some of the blood, but it still seeps around the edges.

So here we are again. I have been on Zoloft for 3 years. It is not effective in treating my problems any longer, but the alternatives are not great either. So, for now I am switching to a medication that I know is successful in keeping the lows at bay much better.

It's so difficult to "look out for number one" while trying to get pregnant as well. Some would say I shouldn't try for children. I would say that I have just as much right to have children as anyone else, and I am a DAMN good Mom. I am dedicated to my son, and that's why I take medication, and get treatment when the signs start to appear rather than wait until I am not showering for days, and laying on the couch in a sad pitiful heap.

The lows are another story all together. Everyone knows me for my humor. For my spazzy nature, that is fun and charming. When I am down, it is frightening and terrifying all at once. I cry. All of the time. I am angry...at EVERYTHING. I have no patience, empathy, or caring for anything. I want to sleep. I want to lay. I don't want to do anything at all. I don't want to talk. I don't want to listen. I want to not be around anyone. I become a shut in.

So, here we are. I needed to say it. To spill it. To let everyone know in terrible written form my struggle. The struggle between having children, and having sanity. I have just as much of a right to have children because usually I am a very responsible person with my illness. It's the "having kids" portion that makes me seem irresponsible. It's that I am not. I am actually quite good about taking my meds and being put together about it. It's the situation I am in. So, I ask my friends, to understand. I am sorry if I update my facebook status 7 times. I am sorry for selling you things, (although I do need the money). I am sorry for erratic behavior. I am sorry for the weird things I might say.

What I am not sorry for is who I am. I am vibrant and real. I am not afraid to tell the world that I struggle with this. It's not on the extreme level, but it's not the easiest thing to deal with either. I am not sorry that I am what I am. I see the world through two very different sets of glasses. As much as it is difficult, it is also beautiful. I am constantly reminded of the terrible nature of life, and the absolute awe that we live within everyday.

Here's to the new medication that will hopefully keep me from going to the pits of despair.