Finally An Answer
Bipolar, The disease that jumps up and bites you in the ass.
I will attempt to explain this Bi-Polar thing I have as best I can. I am new at it myself. But my hope is that others will read this, discover they aren’t alone, and finally feel like they have some clue as to what is going on with them. Or if you can just get a good laugh at my expense, by all means have it. I have learned to laugh at it myself. What else can you do?
When I was first diagnosed, I poured over the internet. Reading and re-reading all about being bipolar. I read medical stuff that I could barely understand. I read blogs. I read ebooks. And really I don’t know if this one is really any different from any of the other ones that I have seen, but finally putting it all down on paper so to speak, and realizing the chronological events of my life and how it has been affected by being bi-polar, is a little healing. I highly recommend it.
The Not Knowing
I don't remember if I really had symptoms or not in my teens. I wasn't actually diagnosed until I was 36. I do know in my teens, I rarely finished anything I started. Stopped playing sports, dropped out of band. I wasn’t exactly what one would call a scholar. I couldn’t study. I just couldn’t focus that long. So if I didn’t get it in class, I didn’t get it. I worked almost full-time for the last 3 years of school. I passed with mostly B’s and C’s. I paid for my own car, clothes, and spent every Wednesday night at Youth Group with the church. From the outside looking in everything was fine. But from the inside looking out, nothing was fine. I never felt like I fit in. I mean, I had friends, I did stuff with them all the time, but I just never felt right. I was always paranoid that I wasn’t doing something right. Like my friends were debutants or something and they would be talking about me as soon as I left the room. I did have one friend whose house I loved to be at. I stayed there most of my young years. There were always kids over there and always something to keep me occupied. And, her mom, bless her heart, hauled all of us around to whatever our whim was for that hour. Her house was never spotless like mine was at home. It was a little cluttered even. But it was just comfortable there.
Thank the Lord for Kim and Dianne. They probably kept me sane as a child and young adult.
Being home for me was always uncomfortable. My mom, who I whole heartedly believe is in bipolar denial, always had to have a spotless house. You couldn’t touch anything. You couldn’t put your feet on the coffee table, you couldn’t drop your books or your purse on the kitchen table when you walked in. You had to wash your dish as soon as you used it. It was always clean, and mom worked at it anytime she was off, but that is all she got done. She couldn’t go to my ball games on weekends because she had to clean the house. I swore I would never have a house like that when I grew up; and boy have I stuck to that promise. When mine is clean, I am not comfortable in it. I need the confusion and clutter to survive. But like I said earlier, I wasn’t diagnosed until I was 37, and it was like an awakening. By then, it gotten so out of hand, and then suddenly I had an explanation for so much. I wasn’t even upset by it. I was actually relieved to finally have an answer to my erratic behavior that I had not been able to control on my own. And when I say I couldn’t control it; I mean it. Even though I knew what I was doing and saying were wrong, I couldn’t stop myself. Thankfully it never got to the point of doing anything illegal. I tried everything I could think of. I prayed. I did yoga. I joined a gym. I started reading and living by the law of Sylvia Browne. I explored different religions to see if that was the problem. Nothing seemed to work. It was devastating. I felt worthless, alone, self-loathing, like a horrible mother and horrible wife, nothing in my life was quiet right.
I could not figure out why.
Normally I am a very rational, organized, independent, self-sufficient woman. This was very confusing for me.
The first "attack", my word for what it did to me, was when I was 18. My grandfather slipped into an irreversible coma after having an aneurism, my parents divorced, and my aunt, who was like my sister, also divorced from a man that I adored. So, I guess all this combined was just too much for my brain to handle. I went into what I presume they call a manic depression. I left my boyfriend of 3 years (we were engaged), dropped out of college, and started drinking heavily.
I met another guy who was the most abusive son of a bitch, and dated him for 2 years. For reasons that do not seem rational to me now as an adult, married him for a total of one week. I left him behind when for another unknown reason I joined the Army. It proved to be yet another venture in the saga that is my life that I also didn't complete. That is about all the space I want to give that SOB. He really doesn’t even deserve a mention, but, it is part of this so I had to.
Seeing a pattern here already?
Employment.
Well, I wasn't good at that either. Don’t get me wrong, I am smart, and can pick up on pretty much anything and excel at it. Jack of all trades you could say. But, after about a year and a half I would get bored and seek somewhere else to hone more skills. That doesn't look very good on your resume by the way. I have finally locked onto a job that I like, and have managed to stay with it for 4 years. My own personal record.
Quit Smoking? Are you nuts?
My second "attack", came when I was 22. This time it came with a vengeance. This was the first one with the hyper mania that preceded the depression. Atleast as far as I can tell. I was crazy to say the least. I was drinking, drugging, partying, quit my office job and got a job as a bartender, slept around a lot for about a month, then boom here comes baby. Still I didn't realize I had a problem. I just thought this was normal ole young adult partying. And of course I surrounded myself with people that made this all feel normal. No prudes if you will. Of course the depression followed while pregnant. The first few months were horrible. But who even in their right mind could tell, if it was just the fact of being single, pregnant, a shit job, and sick all the time, or if it was a depression. On the upside, being pregnant calmed my little butt down. Drinking stopped, drugs stopped, partying stopped. I did keep smoking though. That was just too much to give up at the time for me. I moved back in with my mom, which came with its on set of downfalls.
And baby makes two,
then three.
So the baby boy comes, and the post partum depression sets in. It was truly post partum depression I believe, because it only lasted a week. Thank the lord.
Suddenly, single with a baby I couldn't really support, and still living with my mom, and bartending, I was scared to death. I latched onto the first man I could find that would marry me and set off for the tied down life. It was okay at first. He was a great guy. And he probably deserved a better wife than I was. It gave me the opportunity to stay home with my son during his toddler years. Which was priceless, a true blessing if you ask me. But after having finally realized what my problems were and are still, he actually deserves an apology.
We were married for two years, and the last 4 months of it were hell. Not because of him, but because yet another "attack" came. Suddenly just the sight of him made me crazy. All I wanted to do was shop, stay out of the house, and party my butt off again. And then, there came the infidelity. I didn't know what was going on, but I did know that I didn't want to be with him anymore. So a divorce I asked for and a divorce I got.
3rd Times a Charm
I ended up dating and once again marrying the man I had strayed with while still married to my 2nd husband. (I still consider him my real first husband, since that first one was such a sham. I mean, I didn’t even live with him for god’s sake.) This man has proven to be not only a saint, but a dream.
While we were dating the depression from the manic state kicked in. This coincidentally happened at the same time I turned 27, and I just thought it was that. Just more than a year later we were married.
Really married.
I was in love, I had a real wedding. I had a real ring. And finally, it all felt right.
Not long after this we moved out of state. I think that might have been good for me, because it gave me the opportunity to not only mature, but actually get a real career. His job required much extended travel so again, who could tell if the depressions were from being alone and away from everyone and everything I knew, or if was another "attack". I had the typical world wind spending sprees. Those have turned out to be my cues that something is going on. I spend, I get bored with everything in my life, and start to drink, and then I bottom out. I have learned to control the drinking part, but the rest; I just can't seem to help. I mean, we will have no money, but I get so sick of the pillows on the couch I can't stand it anymore and use the rent money to go buy more. I suddenly have to have yellow dishes, and scour eBay for as many odd yellow dishes as I can find. If I can’t find or come up with the money, I will max out all the credit cards. I will decide that I must redo the house. I will rip out all the carpet and be determined to do my own floor. I will get almost finished with it, and then lay it down. Only to look at an almost finished project everywhere I turn. A kitchen table that I had to redo, got almost finished sanding it, and got bored with it. An entertainment center that I had to have, and built myself, stained myself, missed a part on the staining, and left it that way, tile on the walls with no grout. My list could just go on and on. My whole life has been like this though. My scrapbook from when I was young was never finished. I never quiet get a room fully decorated like I want it before I decide I am tired of it and change it. My husband has finally come around to the yard sale way of thinking. That way we don’t go into debt with new furniture every two years. I have rarely driven a car for more than 3 years before I could just not stand it anymore. I would have to go out and buy another one. Later of course, I wonder what in the world I was thinking. My behavior just doesn't make sense. It’s not like I enjoy being broke. I thought, maybe I am a shoppaholic. My husband just grins and bears it. He finally got to the point of telling me that I need help. His word for me is "shiney". This is the word that he uses when I can’t complete a sentence without having to stop and tell him something else before I forget the thought that just jumped into my head. I do that a lot. I am an interrupter. I don’t mean to be rude, but if I don’t say what I am thinking the minute I think it, it’s gone. Only to be thought of again in the middle of the night. When once again; I can’t tell anyone. I should probably keep a notebook by my bed so I can write stuff down in the middle of the night. Things just randomly pop into my head and I can’t keep on track. It’s almost like there are cue words that remind me of something else. Or I will see something while talking that reminds me of something else, and I just have to say it. It is almost a compulsion. People tell me to use post it notes. But I mean come on, I would have like a 1000 post its that make absolutely no sense on every open space I could find. But this is how I am and once you get used to it, it is not all that bad. You have to be a little A.D.D. to follow me I guess. It is just weird. For example, I can't just sit and watch TV. I have to be doing something else at the same time. As a matter of fact I usually have to be doing about 3 things at the same time or I go nuts. I thrive on chaos it seems. I can’t go to sleep without the TV on. My mind just doesn't seem to ever want to shut down. Ever. I even dream in color. I have heard that most people dream in black and white. It makes me wonder what dreaming in color means, or if it means anything at all.
And then there were four
About 5 years into my marriage I became fixated on having a daughter. My husband and I had not planned on anymore children, but here I was, unhappy until I got my way. We ended up adopting a 5 year old little girl out of foster care. It has been a blessing and a curse. Obviously at 5 and in foster care she had issues. Now, me with issues, and adopting a child with issues probably wasn't the best of ideas. But it has worked so far. It has definitely had its ups and downs, and I am sure I have made mistakes with her. But, all parents make mistakes, and you can’t beat yourself up over it. But I have to admit, there were times when I questioned what I had done, and what the hell I was thinking.
Dr. # 1
I went to a Dr. for help. But I was told that I had Lupus, and the feelings of tiredness and fatigue would just come and go. That eventually it would be debilitating, but there was medication for that when it got to that point. Well, okay, it fit. So home I go. And by the way, I have since discovered that I do not have Lupus.
Dr.’s # 2 and 3
Then I went to the ER with severe headaches, dizziness, and vision problems. They tested me for everything from blood clots in my brain, to clogged arteries. Only to find out that I was good on all that. They never did give me a diagnosis. They just gave me some pain pills for the headaches and sent me on my way.
Making a Deal
But something was not right. I knew it. I was having panic attacks, irrational fears, moody, tired, headaches, you name it, it felt like I had it. Maybe I was just normal. I mean, my mom had acted like this my entire life. But these rages did not feel normal. I mean, I would rage to the point of feeling like I was going to have a heart attack. My chest would pound, my head would hurt, I wouldn’t be able to breath. I just knew that one day soon, I was going to have a stroke over my daughter leaving a Barbie on the stairs or something stupid like that. It was starting to get rather scary. I remember driving down the road by myself one day and making a deal with God. If I am really sick and I am going to die young, then at least let me get my kids raised first. They don’t deserve to go through that kind of shit. All the while hoping he doesn’t really take me up on that offer. I mean, does anyone really want to die young? I was never to the point of suicide. I don’t think. I mean of course there were times when I didn’t see the point of life, but I never wanted to end my life. I just kept thinking that one day I would finally realize what it was all about. I heard Oprah say one time that when she turned 40, she just woke up and it all made sense. So I have been banking on that one. That when I turn 40, it will just all fall into place.
The Butterfly
Finally, the big “attack” came on. First there was the spending spree. I have learned that the internet, catalogs, and credit cards are a bipolar persons worst enemy. I was once again in my unhappy with everything mode. It seemed to last forever. Nothing I did fulfilled my need for new stuff or excitement. I got a new tattoo. (Ink it seems has replaced my need to pierce stuff.) This time nothing would do me but to buy another house. Yep, you read that one right. A new house. I doubled our mortgage, maxed out my credit card on upgrades, and then after moving in, bottomed out. I didn't know what was going on. I had been completely happy in my marriage and in my life. Suddenly, I was screaming at the kids for breathing. Walking around generally pissed off at everything. The smallest thing would set me off. I was overwhelmed with life. I couldn't function. My house had never been the cleanest place in the world, but all of sudden, I couldn't even do the dishes or laundry. It just all seemed like too much. I was crying all the time. I mean, I would cry at a commercial. I managed to go to work, but I did not want to be there. And I couldn't get there on time to save my life. I dreaded getting out of bed and having to go to that place. But I did. I used a lot of sick leave and a lot of annual leave. But I kept my job. The only thing that seemed to calm me, and for the life of me I can’t figure out why; was watching butterflies. There was one at work one day on a bush outside my office window. It was one of those big black ones with the pretty blue spots. I sat there for almost an hour not thinking of a damn thing. Once I finally came around, I realized how calm and refreshed I felt. So, I got to the point, whenever I saw a butterfly, I would stop and watch it fly or dry its wings on a flower. Of course I got over the 1 hour butterfly watching fest. But, somehow it grounded me. One day I was walking to my truck after work and out of nowhere this butterfly just flew right into my head. No kidding, it literally hit me in the head. It was funny as heck. And for some reason, I knew it was someone’s way of letting me know they were there and it would work its way out eventually. I know it sounds crazy as hell, but it sure gave that butterfly tattoo I got on my backside more meaning.
Dr. # 4
I finally went to go see a Dr., realizing that this time something was wrong. This time they said that I was overly stressed and depressed and put me on Paxil. It worked for awhile. I had never felt better. Then all of sudden I was feeling too good. Come to find out, Paxil and bipolar don't mix. It sets your brain into overdrive and brings on an "attack". And boy did it. I took out loans to buy stuff that I can't even remember. Started partying again, leaving my husband and kids at home 5 nights a week. That was my breaking point. I knew something was not right. I was not acting at all like myself, whatever I thought my real self was anyway. Who knew anymore. I could figure out no other reasons for my actions than that damn Paxil. I took myself off of it (which you aren’t suppose to do on your own). The immediate decrease in the drug sent me into a spiraling depression. But it was over with quickly, and I was actually expecting it because of taking myself off the meds and handled it. I read all about it on the internet before I did and decided that I was superwoman and could handle it. I drank a lot of Chamomile tea. (that’s what they always do on TV so that’s what I did)
So, summertime finally came, and I seemed to be okay. Then came October. It is always October. I started yelling, screaming, not doing housework; I just really didn't give a shit about anything. I became obsessed with new stuff again. It didn’t matter what. Clothes, shoes, cookbooks, if I liked it just a little, I was going to have it. Nothing would do me. My husband left for a job out of state (no choice in the matter), and was going to just commute every other weekend. So here I sit, basically forced into being a single mother, with a huge house that we can barely afford, and I can't keep clean for the life of me.
Dr. # 5, FINALLY
This time, I decided to go see a Psychiatrist. And it has turned out to be the best thing I could have ever done. It didn't take him very long at all to know what the problem was. I am Rapid Cycling Bipolar with Anxiety and A.D.D. I was immediately put on 3 different medications. One was to sleep. I wasn't doing a lot of that either. I basically survived on 4 hours a night for years. One was for the anxiety attacks. I still get them, but not as often. And the third medicine is simply a control medication to lengthen the times between “attacks”. I will still get them, just not as often, and hopefully not as severe.
The medicine has helped tremendously, but I can tell that it is still there lurking. Just this month, I started shopping again. I sold out dining room table and redid our dining room. I repainted the living room and bought all new decorations for in there. I painted the kitchen and dining room and bought all new decor for there too. All this in a matter of a month. I cried at a commercial. The rage isn't there though. So that is a sign of good things to come I suppose. I have another appointment next week. Guess I will ask then. I probably should have already called my counselor, but stubborn ole me thinks I can manage it on my own. But, I am new this, I am allowed a few oops.
Right?
