So apparently I’ve been crazy as far back as I can remember. Great! Having a kid, who likely will be plagued by having a mentally ill mother, is how I find out I have a room reserved in the nut house.
Bipolar. What does that even mean? It’s such an ugly and loaded word. It’s used to make fun of people, to demean people, to label people. I don’t want to be in any of those categories. I don’t want to be labeled. I want to be functional, competent and self-reliant. I want to be a caretaker and role model for B. I feel like being bipolar will be a stigma in being a mom and a person.
I even had a friend tell me – well you’re a gemini so that makes sense. Huh?
So what do I do now? I’m feel like I’m medicated out of my face trying to find the right cocktail of pharmaceuticals to manage my mood swings. I’m also seeing a very nice therapist. Talking to someone about my thoughts and feelings, even my fears is so freeing! I’m slowly starting to float up above the water that I felt dragging my body down.
I need to get myself out of this funk. If I’m going to get a handle on this bipolar thing I’d much rather be in a manic episode and get some shit done rather than being all depression girl. It is what it is, now what? How can I learn more about myself and manage this condition. I can’t bury my head in the sand I need to take action. Right?