When I walked in to that Doctor Office that day, I knew who I was. I had a handle on me. I knew when I went to bed at night, what made me, me. But I walked out gone. The person I knew to be me, had up and disappeared and I was left with what felt like a stranger in my heart. To you maybe, that seems impossible. Or dramatic. And I guess maybe its both. But its also true.
Going in there that day, I was looking for help, for a new med, maybe a break. But mostly help. At least I went in for the right reasons. Because coming out, I needed to be ready to take on a monster. My own head and sadly, I guess, my heart.
Since having Anna, my moods have been all over the place. Which is expected post partum. But for some one like me feels all the normal "feels" are much more extreme. But I knew and expected that, in all honesty. So the day came where I recognized that I needed to see my doctor and I needed to be better for my family and for me. So in I went. But out came a stranger.
The diagnosis? Bipolar Disorder. Now you might think, C'mon, someone like you never thought of that possibility before. And truthfully, I had. Many years ago. But long enough ago to know, I wasn't likely taking an honest evaluation of me. Sure I knew I had ups and downs, but I thought the ups were me as a person and the downs were depression. It wasn't until walking out of that appointment and slept on it, that I truly looked back on my timeline and seen the very clear pattern of "me".
The "me" I know, when she is happy, was/is the life of the party. I'm fun, out going, happy, energetic, spontaneous. I have a total false confidence. But sometimes, mid day, mid evening, or mid-night, all that slips away in a matter of time. Seconds, sometimes. And I am left with the "other me". My future feels bleak in those days or hours or whatever. I have not one tiny hope in my very tired body. All my goals of yesterday are insurmountable. Unattainable and mostly- unimaginable.
Through a night I can clean my entire home. Organize the pantry. Wash, dry and put away the laundry. I can meal plan for a week. Budget. Plan my life. Water the plants. All while my family sleeps. Then I can get them up and do all the things I need to do that day. And repeat, until who knows when. And then as fast as my mind races, I'm back to bed barely able to feed my kids, let alone me. And repeat, until who knows when.
So here I am. 2:16 a.m. two coffees in and processing this stranger I came home with. You know that saying, "I knew who I was this morning, but I've changed a few times since then." It rings in my head over and over. I guess it doesn't have to be a bad thing. And properly cared for, I can be a good mom/wife/friend. And I'm no stranger to mental illness but I'm in a foreign field, it feels like, and I'm so tired of the ups, because of the downs. But mostly, I'm just tired...
