Bipolar Disorder 28 Years in the Making

I just turned 47 years old, and I suffer from bipolar disorder. Never in a million years did I think I would still be struggling at this age. Back when I was diagnosed, I remember thinking, I’ll just take these pills and that will take care of it. From age 19 on, things have progressively gotten worse with my symptoms. My 20’s were a nightmare filled with self- injury, suicide attempts, and hospitalizations.



It wasn’t until my 30’s that I started to see things more clearly. That is in a large part due to marrying a kind, caring, and compassionate man. That, coupled with finally getting mental health coverage, finally allowed me to choose a doctor that was a good fit for me. It was a struggle. It’s been very difficult to find one that I felt I could trust.



As I turned 40, thing seemed to come apart at the seams. I attempted suicide once again in 2013 and was hospitalized. I felt like I was starting all over again. The hospital was horrible, and I received no help whatsoever. I had to make the decision to try to play by the rules to get myself out of there.



In the years since that hospitalization, things have been incredibly up and down. I won’t lie, nothing has been easy. I now have a good doctor, but I think she might even be a bit confused about what to do next. It doesn’t help that I have a medication-resistant system.



I go to bed every night with the hopes that tomorrow will bring me a brighter day, and I’ll experience fewer symptoms. It’s useless for me to make to-do lists anymore. I’m overcome with guilt if I don’t accomplish everything on it. I don’t mean to make it sound as if the years have all been bad, and I never feel decent. I’ve accomplished some things I never thought I would, and my marriage is a strong and happy one.



However, the losses I’ve experienced have been crippling and incredibly difficult to endure. I have yet to attempt therapy again. I can say that no good has ever come from my experiences with therapists. Maybe I just never found the right therapist, or maybe I’m just too damn stubborn. My last therapist fell asleep while I was talking, so I’m passing on the experience for now.



At this stage in my life, I’ve been struggling quite a bit. Turning 47 doesn’t help matters any. You hope that after all of these years, you would have some insight into what does or doesn’t work on a daily basis. That is not the case for me. I’m grateful for the little things, and I try not to get too down on myself for the bad days.



For now, I will take comfort in the little things that some people may find trivial. A good movie, a good book, hearing my husband say I love you, and the occasional comments from folks around the world that are grateful for the honesty in my writing.

First Blog of 2020

I’ve been struggling. That’s not news to anyone that follows my Twitter feed. I don’t even know the reason life has been so hard for me lately. But, when life gets hard on me, things start falling by the wayside, and one of those things has been writing. I’ve mostly been featuring guest posts on my blog just to keep it active, while I’ve sat by and wished it was me who wrote every single article. I will say one thing that I do know for certain; losing our cat Hayley has had a profound effect on me. I knew it would be difficult when that day came, but I didn’t realize it would hurt like this.



So, it’s been hard to come up with topics when my brain is only stuck on that one tragic event. My health hasn’t been great, and family issues are never-ending, so all of that factors in as well.



The biggest struggle for me right now is watching my friends, peers, other advocates making an impact with their blogs or books or just overall advocacy. I feel like I’m running in the slow lane, and everyone is lapping me on the left. Don’t get me wrong. I am happy for anyone that is finding success, especially in the mental health field. I just thought I would be farther along than I am now, and it’s really stressing me out.



I want to write meaningful and impactful pieces once again. My brain seems to think that I’m all done with that. I cry most nights, just trying to find that one thing that will drag me out of this funk and back into the world. It’s pathetic to feel so envious of the people that I care about. I had hopes that once I sat down and started writing, I could create a masterpiece. I think that’s going to take more than one of these painful “come to Jesus” moments. I want to write for other publications again. It would help to have writing prompts I think. I don’t sign up for these projects because I’m afraid of letting everyone down, especially myself.



I didn’t want this to sound like I’m broken down and feeling sorry for myself, but it appears that’s how it’s coming across. My apologies. I’m just in a tricky place right now, and I’m hoping that someone will read this and perhaps take a moment to offer a few words of advice. Thank you so much for listening (reading, I should say). Wish me luck!