in an effort to make the experience of mental illness, & specifically bipolar disorder, more understandable to the non-patient, i've decided to go global. sort of.
most of the time, you, the non-patient, live in/on a world that pretty much looks like this:
on good days, when i'm lucky or well-rested, i live there, too. YAY!
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on rough days, despite my strict regimen of daily medication & regular therapy sessions, this is where i live:
---
or here:
---
or here:
---
or here:
---
the worst part of having such a superbly tilted axis isn't actually having to deal with it on my own (though that's certainly no picnic). if it was just me, then i could be more "okay" with it. but nope. the most torturous aspect of the experience is knowing that sometimes, my loved ones inhabit these planets with me. it's a confusing fact of my life; my family & friends, in their unfailing acceptance of me in my entirety, are simultaneously choosing & being forced to live here. sometimes, they rocket to my side, knowing that their presence will help me heal. other times, i mindlessly hog-tie & throw them into the cargo hold as i gun the warp drive.
over & over again, i feel guilty because i know that being with me can be terribly wearying & hard on them. over & over again, they remind me that they are present because they want to be present. they tell me that they love me, & they've accepted this role of being by my side, no matter what. on an intellectual level, i understand this. on every other, i don't. i can't fathom what love means. sadly, my inability to comprehend bites me in the ass. hard.
depending which world i'm on at a particular moment, i can be extremely hard to read, & lines of communications get seriously crossed or go dark altogether. i don't respond well to this. i didn't last night. i said things i didn't mean to say, things that i would never have said if i was thinking clearly. i refuse to use bipolar disorder as an excuse to treat others poorly, & while i was on my swiftly spinning planet, i behaved badly. i am still accountable, & i am profoundly sorry. they don't deserve this. they need time away.
there are days when they just want to go home. they don't know what to say or how to help, & they're tired & scared. they ask me to seek more help, different help, from those who know how to better give it. this is, of course, reasonable, & i completely understand why they feel as they do. i don't blame them for it. my trouble comes with the reliance on strangers. even in times of crisis, or rather, especially in times of crisis, it's extraordinarily frightening for me to unpack my heart before people i've never met. i have to retell every story, reveal every crack, & recount every trauma, semi- or otherwise.
i suppose that maybe i've been scared off by those professional "helps." once, i called a hotline. there wasn't any sort of counsel, just a direction to go to a local hospital. i went, sat in the waiting area, alone, nervous, & was then called into a bare, conference-y looking room. i had to sit at a round table, and the social worker asked a variety of questions. do you have a therapist? yes. do you have a psychiatrist? yes. do you take your meds on a daily basis? yes. what's bothering you? xxx. do you feel like you want to harm yourself? i don't know. i don't want to, but i still feel trapped. then there was a whole bunch of other questions that i don't remember being asked, answers that i don't recall giving, a recommendation to see my therapist & psychiatrist soon, & an assertion that i'd be okay. then i was sent home. um... thanks. (that's what i was going to do anyway before i even called...). i didn't feel any better for the visit.
then there was the time i went to an emergency room (of my own volition). i stared at the intake forms. they were confusing. they could have been written in toddler-speak, & they still would have baffled me. after doing my best to complete these nearly-incomprehensible-to-me papers, i had to sit there for almost an hour on a hard, plastic chair, scared & trying my best not to cry. when they finally got around to me, i was directed to a small room that was empty, save the exam table in the middle & a camera lodged high on the wall, near the corner. a nurse handed me a hospital gown, told me to disrobe, & give all of my belongings to her. ALL of them. i did so. she left, closing the door behind her. the door had no inside handle. the only way i could get out was if someone on the outside decided to release me. i was exhausted. i tried to lie down on the hard vinyl. my cell was freezing. i had to go to the bathroom. i tried to tap on the little square window to get any passing nurse's attention; everyone kept walking by. what i later calculated to be four hours later, a social worker finally came in. we talked for a little bit & eventually reached a core issue behind my state. then it came again. "see your therapist & psychiatrist soon." my belongings were returned, i could change, & i was sent home. i didn't feel any better for the visit.
---
so that's my off-earth dilemma. please understand; this is by no means a pity-me post. these are the facts of my life, & if i'm going to keep on keepin on, i have to learn to adjust almost daily. i owe it to myself & my loved ones to do my best to be okay, even when my axis is completely off-kilter. i must try, over & over & over again, for the rest of my life because i want the best for my family & friends, & i want to give myself as as many opportunities as possible to be well &, dare i say it, thrive. occasionally, i forget the truth that i have it within me to survive. i guess that's why the people i love best are there in the first place. they remind me of my own courage, strength, & plain damn stubbornness. despite the wild flights, i'm able to remind myself: i can do this. i can do this. i can do this. & i can do this, in large part because of them.
m, d, g, m, n, r, m, & everyone else--thank you. you're lifesavers.
most of the time, you, the non-patient, live in/on a world that pretty much looks like this:
---
on rough days, despite my strict regimen of daily medication & regular therapy sessions, this is where i live:
---
or here:
---
or here:
---
or here:
---
the worst part of having such a superbly tilted axis isn't actually having to deal with it on my own (though that's certainly no picnic). if it was just me, then i could be more "okay" with it. but nope. the most torturous aspect of the experience is knowing that sometimes, my loved ones inhabit these planets with me. it's a confusing fact of my life; my family & friends, in their unfailing acceptance of me in my entirety, are simultaneously choosing & being forced to live here. sometimes, they rocket to my side, knowing that their presence will help me heal. other times, i mindlessly hog-tie & throw them into the cargo hold as i gun the warp drive.
over & over again, i feel guilty because i know that being with me can be terribly wearying & hard on them. over & over again, they remind me that they are present because they want to be present. they tell me that they love me, & they've accepted this role of being by my side, no matter what. on an intellectual level, i understand this. on every other, i don't. i can't fathom what love means. sadly, my inability to comprehend bites me in the ass. hard.
depending which world i'm on at a particular moment, i can be extremely hard to read, & lines of communications get seriously crossed or go dark altogether. i don't respond well to this. i didn't last night. i said things i didn't mean to say, things that i would never have said if i was thinking clearly. i refuse to use bipolar disorder as an excuse to treat others poorly, & while i was on my swiftly spinning planet, i behaved badly. i am still accountable, & i am profoundly sorry. they don't deserve this. they need time away.
there are days when they just want to go home. they don't know what to say or how to help, & they're tired & scared. they ask me to seek more help, different help, from those who know how to better give it. this is, of course, reasonable, & i completely understand why they feel as they do. i don't blame them for it. my trouble comes with the reliance on strangers. even in times of crisis, or rather, especially in times of crisis, it's extraordinarily frightening for me to unpack my heart before people i've never met. i have to retell every story, reveal every crack, & recount every trauma, semi- or otherwise.
i suppose that maybe i've been scared off by those professional "helps." once, i called a hotline. there wasn't any sort of counsel, just a direction to go to a local hospital. i went, sat in the waiting area, alone, nervous, & was then called into a bare, conference-y looking room. i had to sit at a round table, and the social worker asked a variety of questions. do you have a therapist? yes. do you have a psychiatrist? yes. do you take your meds on a daily basis? yes. what's bothering you? xxx. do you feel like you want to harm yourself? i don't know. i don't want to, but i still feel trapped. then there was a whole bunch of other questions that i don't remember being asked, answers that i don't recall giving, a recommendation to see my therapist & psychiatrist soon, & an assertion that i'd be okay. then i was sent home. um... thanks. (that's what i was going to do anyway before i even called...). i didn't feel any better for the visit.
then there was the time i went to an emergency room (of my own volition). i stared at the intake forms. they were confusing. they could have been written in toddler-speak, & they still would have baffled me. after doing my best to complete these nearly-incomprehensible-to-me papers, i had to sit there for almost an hour on a hard, plastic chair, scared & trying my best not to cry. when they finally got around to me, i was directed to a small room that was empty, save the exam table in the middle & a camera lodged high on the wall, near the corner. a nurse handed me a hospital gown, told me to disrobe, & give all of my belongings to her. ALL of them. i did so. she left, closing the door behind her. the door had no inside handle. the only way i could get out was if someone on the outside decided to release me. i was exhausted. i tried to lie down on the hard vinyl. my cell was freezing. i had to go to the bathroom. i tried to tap on the little square window to get any passing nurse's attention; everyone kept walking by. what i later calculated to be four hours later, a social worker finally came in. we talked for a little bit & eventually reached a core issue behind my state. then it came again. "see your therapist & psychiatrist soon." my belongings were returned, i could change, & i was sent home. i didn't feel any better for the visit.
---
so that's my off-earth dilemma. please understand; this is by no means a pity-me post. these are the facts of my life, & if i'm going to keep on keepin on, i have to learn to adjust almost daily. i owe it to myself & my loved ones to do my best to be okay, even when my axis is completely off-kilter. i must try, over & over & over again, for the rest of my life because i want the best for my family & friends, & i want to give myself as as many opportunities as possible to be well &, dare i say it, thrive. occasionally, i forget the truth that i have it within me to survive. i guess that's why the people i love best are there in the first place. they remind me of my own courage, strength, & plain damn stubbornness. despite the wild flights, i'm able to remind myself: i can do this. i can do this. i can do this. & i can do this, in large part because of them.
m, d, g, m, n, r, m, & everyone else--thank you. you're lifesavers.
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