I wish I had some witty intro. A backstory or memory to bring us to this moment. I don't, though.
I know I post a lot about mental illness and how being bipolar is shitty and it often goes on ad nauseam and it begins to become so much background noise and no one wants to hear any more about it.
It can be background noise and it can go on and it certainly can be monotonous. Only, I can't escape it or close out a window or forget about it. It's always there.
***
My doctor often talks about self-care, as if that is something I can just say, "A ha! Now I know! I will do it and it will be lovely and I will be ok."
And I WANT that to happen, but the truth is, I am not even sure what self-care is. I thought it was bathing and making my bed and doing makeup, but apparently, that is not what she means.
"What makes you happy? What are you good at? What brings you joy?"
I....don't know. My kids? Driving? Getting a great parking spot?
"No, no, no. What brings you joy deep down inside? What - aside from your family - is truly something that makes you happy?"
And I can't answer. And if I COULD, I might even say that sometimes THEY don't even make me happy. And good moms don't say things like that. They also don't start multiple sentences with the word AND. Alas, I really dig it and it helps with the flow of my thoughts.
So there it goes.
***
I want joy. I remember the girl who I once was. Not as well as I used to remember her.
I remember finding joy in little things. The way the sun set. The way I'd come home from work and everything would be the way it was when I left that morning.
Traveling.
Seeing different countries.
Being in control of myself.
ONLY answering to myself.
No responsibilities.
And she was happy, that girl. And yet, she still wanted more.
***
She wanted babies. She wanted desperately to be a mother. She tried and tried and married and divorced and cried and prayed and almost had it two times. But it didn't happen.
And that girl was willing to give up everything.
And she did.
And finally, FINALLY, she was a mom. Her wish had come true.
Only? It still wasn't enough and she still wasn't happy.
And how can life throw that at you? How can you get what you want and not be able to enjoy it?
I loved my baby with such a fierceness. She was all that I imagined she would be. And more! She was my hopes and my dreams and the things I never even knew I wanted.
But sadness and anger and that feeling of being adrift on the sea would not leave me.
And still I went on.
***
And we grew together, me and my girl. And she taught me things. And I grabbed onto her like a life jacket. Clinging to the hope that she could bring me up out of the depths and save me. Save me.
But babies can't save you. Babies SHOULDN'T save you.
But meds can. Well, meds can help. Doctors can help. Cognitive Behavioral Therapy can help.
And they helped for a while. And then we switched. And then we made new cocktails.
And then my new baby was growing and we were back to square one.
Nine months of going it on my own.
***
When I say it was rough, that doesn't do it justice. Devils and evil and fire and fury. That's how I spent it. Crying and raging and pulling my hair out.
And then she was here! Out of my body. In my arms. And I knew - I KNEW - it was all wrong.
I lashed out. I screamed. I threatened to kill myself. I said horrible, horrible things to Mike. And the best place (or worst?) to do those things is at the hospital. I spent most of my time there sedated, begging them to wake me to feed my baby. After all, I knew I would have to go back on my meds soon, and I needed what little I could get from her. Feeding her from my body.
And she fed. Oh, she was a pro. Bleeding and cracking and pain you wouldn't believe. But she didn't give up. Neither did I.
And then the time came. I cried and said goodbye to that connection. And I know - I KNOW - that the connection exists no matter what. And I know - I KNOW - that a healthy mom was the most important thing.
But I was angry. So, so angry. Why me? We all have said that before. I know. But, why doesn't MY brain do what it should? Why can't I feed my baby and love my family and not know any anger or confusion or what exact combination of meds will calm me enough to not want to walk off a bridge?
And that is a long story just to say that it is back.
***
I'm not pregnant now. There are no babies on the way. But, Mother Nature fucks with you nonetheless. She laughs and tosses your hormones around into an unidentifiable mess and then says, "Here. Deal with it."
Only? I can't. I literally cannot.
I am sleeping all day. I am forgetting my meds. I am staying home and ignoring invitations and pretending that it's fine.
But it's not. And I'm not.
And it's totally the nature of the beast. And it totally won't last. But bipolar disorder does. not. care.
Days? Weeks? Months? Who knows? I am armed now, though, with the tools to know it won't last forever. I just need to push through and tell myself that I CAN DO HARD THINGS.
I can get through it. I can push on. I can make it through to the other side.
But, oh. It's so hard, you guys.
And I really - TRULY - don't think it's fair.
***
