I can’t trust myself, can’t trust the thoughts running through my head – my actions, my feelings, my emotions…
How can I live the life of truth that I so desperately want and need when I don’t even know if I am being truthful to myself? How can I manage an illness that lies in such an accomplished way that I cannot discern fact from fiction?
Does everyone hate me? Logic would tell me that is unlikely but my brain, so convincingly, tells me that they all do… they don’t like me, I am a burden, I am nothing to anyone, including me. How do I fight that? Am I behaving badly? My brain says no but those around me are suffering, how do I stop that? How can I learn to see when that is happening? Why do I do that? How can I cope with all that is thrown at me – the bits of life that everyone has to deal with and this hellish illness?
I am tired of the constant exhausting battle raging within my mind – no matter the arguments of positivity and light I place, anarchy inevitably ensues, I wish it would quiet, I wish I could turn it off.
I’m sure I will find my fight once again, pick up the pieces and rebuild once more what Bipolar has demolished but then what? Then, I will be left to cycle right back to this stage again – there is no relief, there is no end.
I am past the anger stage it would seem. I think perhaps there are phases that all, or many, Bipolar sufferers go through after finally being diagnosed… I had a brief period of relief, relief at finally being told why I was the way I was, it was life-affirming and changed my perspective on every event of my past; it gave me reason. Then, I was angry, fiercely, maddeningly angry! I don’t want Bipolar disorder! I don’t want this to be a thing that will never leave me, I want a cure, I want this to be over – Why me?!!! Now though I have moved on from anger and into dejection and hopelessness… What more can I do? and is this it for the rest of my life? Am I doomed to forever repeat the same mistakes, the same moods, the same lies, fears and the seemingly never-ending bleakness that plagues my existence? Is this it, is this me?
I can’t seem to do anything for myself; the things I place in my life to manage my illness all fall away when things get tough, when I can’t bear to leave the house, my bed… when I can’t answer the phone or the door or face the world… and then things seem to improve for a while and I go about rebuilding, I start Zumba classes, I go swimming, I seek work, I am more social… and again the cycle moves, I am ignoring the people I was socialising with, I am missing classes and sitting here, writing to you… This is me, this is my life.