an0nym0us-0n-purp0se

[an0nym0us-0n-purp0se]

Long vent/rant about being bipolar below...

I knew I was bipolar long before I was diagnosed. At the very least I was going to be bipolar, borderline, or just have major depressive disorder. I did a bunch of research throughout middle and high school because a lot of people in my family have mental disorders, and I was trying to be prepared. Among other things I was diagnosed bipolar two. Hypomania and depression. Fair, understandable, moving on.

I had pages of research, links to sites, and reddit posts that detailed peoples experiences. I asked people I knew and tried to be as open to the diagnosis as possible. I wasn't in denial just terrified because I saw what someone with bipolar disorder could do. I knew firsthand how quickly they could unravel, and it was not a great experience. I never wanted to be like that and was scared. Still am.

I don't believe the whole, "villainizing mental illness" thing because I know that people can still be amazing with whatever baggage they may carry. But I also knew that some people refused to carry their baggage and instead of unloading it onto a professional or taking care of themselves it would become everyone else problem.

Just knowing doesn't mean you don't end up like that. Just because you know the consequences of drinking alcohol doesn't mean you stop. People give into their emotions and their urges, and I know I may not be an exception. It runs in my family. It doesn't matter if I love someone, it doesn't matter if they're my kid, it doesn't matter if they would do anything and everything for me, I could hurt them. I've seen it.

As crap as it is I moved on. I didn't ignore the way I was feeling but I didn't fix it either. It was always "yeah I know this is my thought process but what can I do about it, talk it out, write, smoke?"

I want to cope but all I see wrong now is one thing and it is really screwing with me. I've always refused medication for EVERYTHING. Again, a lot of baggage there too. I don't want to rely on it. I don't want to have to have a rainbow inside my medicine container. It's a stupid feeling to have towards medication, or so I've been told. I support taking meds if you want to. Key word: WANT!

The rollercoaster of finding meds that work (if any) and then making sure for the rest of your life that they don't interfere with other meds you have to take or vice versa. "SO, don't take meds. Just think yourself better."

Okay. Journalling, diet change, exercise, sleeping well and enough but not too much, having a support system, blah blah blah.

I got sober. I wasn't addicted just used it because it made me feel better for a bit. Done. Washed my hands of it because people told me that was the problem.

Tried finding a routine I could stick to that was fit for a normal person because that is what people expected. Got a job or two to give myself motivation. Tried coming out of my room more often. Set alarms for everything. Downloaded self-care apps. Made playlists. Avoided things that actually made me feel better because they were bad for me. Valid and I'm good.

All of that over the span of years and now what? I'm not expecting instant results. I'm not expecting a cure. I'm expecting just a little bit of hope that I am doing something right. Just a little sign that yeah, it's going to get better.

Routines fall through and guilt emerges and I'm plummeting to rock bottom. Even then it feels like the ground swallows me under even more. I can't get out of bed for work. I try and if I can manage to force myself to finally come out of my room I don't get dressed. I go to work, do the best I can, come home and collapse. Fights. All the time, which is normal in my house and when we fight, I go back to my room. It's quiet and safe there. I turn off alarms. No point having them bother me if I am just going to turn them off and ignore them when they go off. So many days behind on an app that I finally delete it. Making a playlist for me when I'm sad so I can feel sadder but understood. Heavy intrusive thoughts and relapses.

All good. Just give me a minute, one of the highs will come back and find me in a bit. I'm under no illusion that it's a low or that the high will come back and I know all too well that it won't last.

That's okay. Do it all again and feel like even more of a failure each time. I can cope with the constant ups and downs. I used to live through someone else's my own are a cake walk in comparison. I just don't get how to move forward.

"Go to therapy!" Done. It's just some notepad noises with the same motivational quotes I used to find on the back of milk cartons. Telling me it gets better and telling me crap I already learned online and from a person who actually has this disorder and didn't just study it. Some notepad telling me, "It's not you...it's the disease." But yeah, I'll do it. Have them work on childhood trauma that gives me nervous breakdowns and nightmares after talking about it because it was, I wound I had already healed but they thought they could do it better. Then are surprised that it made me worse?

"Build a routine! Be gentle with yourself." Cool. I analyze my behaviors, highs and lows, triggers, times of month/year they occur most. I dissect every action. I make sure that after I berate myself that I take a breath and tell myself that I am alright. I am trying. I can do this. I follow that routine. I follow it to a T. I forgive mistakes and work to correct them. A low hits. Family starts in. Affirmations can't do much in this household. "Move out, duh" don't even get me started on that right now. Routine falls through. Build a new one or try the old one again because it worked so well the last time. "Just do it."

"Find community!" Family knows about relapses. They don't care. One of them gives me tips and jokes about it. The crap they say is infuriating but let's move on. We don't have to rely on blood. Oh, but friends. I burned all those bridges the second I had concrete proof that I was bipolar. Burned every single bridge immediately. No friends and even if I did still talk to those people, I would never talk to them about this. One was disgusted that my depression was soooo bad I couldn't get out of bed and take a shower. I was disgusting to them because of this. One of them cut off people that openly let people know they had depression and that lows were frequent. One was highly religious (I am not) and would talk about God watching me. Make new ones you say? Right, because after burning all the bridges I am definitely ready to build some new ones and make an endless cycle of making friends and breaking contact over and over and over. That's totally healthy.

"Just push through. Stop sitting in this mess and fix it. Just...get better. Work on it. Just do it. Suck it up." I did that. Now I'm here. In another mess. Do it again? Even though this mess is worse than the last one? Do it again so the next mess is worse than this one? Keep doing it until it's infinitely worse than anything I could have possibly conceived in my mind? Good idea.