I have a friend with whom I frequently discuss being bipolar.  She seems to think I am overly sensitive to the fact that I am because I don't disclose it readily to people.  She thinks it should be no big deal.  Well, it is and it isn't.  I choose not to share it for a variety reasons, the primary one being that it isn't really anyone's business...I don't need to make excuses for myself or talk about it constantly.  I lead a normal life, for the most part.  I have more doctor's appointments than the average person and I may make excuses for that, which is really where we come to differ.

I've told lies about why I have so many doctor's appointments.  She thinks I should be open about it.  How do you get someone to understand the stigma that goes along with having a mental illness?  She is no stranger to stigma in her own right, she is a disabled person.  However, when it comes to mental health, it's a little bit trickier, I think.   People are afraid of the mentally ill.  People are taught from an early age to shun them.  There's only recently become a movement of inclusiveness that is widespread so it will be some time before people begin to wake up, if they will at all.

So, there's some fear involved in my silence.  She thinks I make it taboo, but that's not my doing.  I am not ashamed one bit.  I have little hesitation in telling someone who has earned my trust.  There's always that moment of knowing that once the words leave my lips they can never be recaptured, but afterward I'm comfortable.  I've told a fair number of people, and have yet to regret my selections.  I don't think I've hurt anyone by withholding the information.  Maybe that's her point though.  The lies I've told...maybe she thinks the people who have been lied to have been wronged by me and deserve to know the truth instead.  I just see them as being not that close to me and a little too nosey.  Hmmm.  May have to reconsider...

Been a Long Time

It's been a long time since I've done any writing, as you can tell.   I'm a firm believer that I should have something worth sharing, rather than just blithering on about whatever little detail is stuck in my head.  So many people do that in their blogs...can't say I am all that wild about reading about someone moaning over their laundry and how long it took to do it and they're still not done yet.   You know what I mean.  That's the kind of life I've been leading over the last several months. 

What has been post worthy, I've probably posted something similar about it before.  Just something of a continuation in a theme in my life, with no new insights to share.  So, in my mind, that rendered it un-post worthy. 

Lately, I've had a sense of reaching for something.  What or where, I don't know.  I am not trying to make contact with friends or family.  I'm just as withdrawn as ever.  I'm certainly not doing it here.  Maybe it's more of a yearning.  Longing.  Wanting my life back.  I've known for some time that nothing is ever going to be the same...and it shouldn't be.   We know where that leads.  Somehow I have to figure out what life is supposed to be like and I'm not sure what that is.  All I know is what it is right now is not necessarily what I want.

I miss working.  I like having a job.  All the jobs I have had have ultimately made me ill, so it's hard to conceive of a job that won't.  Especially when you consider my work ethic.  I tend to throw myself into things.  (Gee, what a surprise.  A bipolar with no sense of balance?  Surely, you jest...).  Here I am without a job, completely inert.  I feel like there are only two worlds to choose from.  And I know that's not how most people live their lives, so there are some skills I need to learn.  Where do I learn them?  Is this something my therapist is supposed to be teaching me?  If not, who?

In March it will be 2 years since I stopped working.  I have achieved a greater level of stability, but don't feel any healthier than I was when I stopped.  Granted, I got far sicker after that, and I'm definitely better than that point, but judging by the level I was at when I stopped, I'm not much better.  I just don't cry like I did then.  How much of that is through the wonders of medication?  Hard to say.

Now, I'm also stuck in a hard position.  I had arranged to go through retraining, but am now in a situation where I have no childcare.  No idea when that will change, but it won't be any time soon.  So there's no getting out of the house for me at all.  It may not be until September that I can put an eye toward any idea of work options.  That in itself is depressing.

At the moment, I wish I was "normal".

Frustration

It's been a long time since I've blogged.  I go on these hiatuses when I feel uninspired.  Lately, I've had some stuff on my mind, but have hesitated writing about it.  I can't hold back anymore, but I'll give a brief update before I get down to the heart of things.

I've reacted well to the change in anti-depressants.  I'm taking 90mg of Cymbalta only now, and from all appearances, I've reacted well to it.  I think there is some room for improvement, but I don't know if that means we'll be going up in my dosage or not next visit.  The neatest thing is I was able to take all 3 kids to a movie by myself last weekend.  That's something that I never would have considered under some of the best circumstances.  So, this must be some good stuff.  I do still avoid going out and doing anything at all most days, though.  Hopefully this changes over time with this medication.

As well as things are going, I'm having a problem with my husband.  He's been drinking again.  It hasn't been just one slip, but is becoming what appears to be a regular thing, a couple times a week over the last two weeks.  I am not sure what to do. 

According to him:  He is still having a hard time with the things I did and continues to be intensely angry with me.  This anger and the pain of what I did fuels his desire to drink and he is unable to resist.  There is also some subconscious desire for me to throw him out so that maybe his pain will be alleviated by not having to be with me anymore.  He is unable to bring himself to leave me, so that if he gets drunk enough times that I reach the end of my rope, I will do it. 

According to me:  He's an alcoholic.  He drinks because he is an alcoholic.  There is no reason, only justification.  I don't feel responsible or guilty for his break in sobriety.  In reality, it has nothing to do with me.  If I had never done anything, he'd find another "reason".  He did before I ever made my mistakes.  This was a problem between us long before I ever did anything.

Aside from all the other problems this presents, one of my big concerns right now is that this behavior is a major trigger for me.  In the past, it has been a trigger for mania.  I'm not saying it is a cause for it, but there is that danger where chemicals and environment collide and you just don't know what is going to happen.  I'm not perfectly controlled right now, although I am on a good dose of Geodon, so I worry.  I've already had the old angry thoughts of "He doesn't give a fuck, so why should I?" however, and that isn't a good sign. 

I don't want to lash out, I don't want to cause any pain, even if I am being hurt again.  It just feels so intentional, just like before.  That's one thing I've never been able to make him understand.  It always felt like when he drank, it wasn't just that he didn't care, it was that he wanted to hurt me.  He wanted me to feel isolated and alone, like he hated me.  I'm sure he takes great pleasure in that now, but I never understood why he did then.  I don't know what I did back then.

Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I had made different choices.  An exercise in futility, I know, but it's hard not to do sometimes.  Our first conversation about a week before I got pregnant.  What if I had just called it quits before I knew I was pregnant?  Would things have changed once I found out I was?  What if I had decided not to stay with him when I found out he had cheated on me?  What if I had left him when I first threatened to, when I only had two children?  Would we still be at the point we are at today?  All those opportunities precede my bad choices.  What I wonder is, if I had made different choices at those points in time, would I have avoided my mistakes, but would we still have ended up here dealing with this issue but with different "reasons" swirling around it?  I don't know if I would have avoided my bad choices, but even if we assume I would have, I think we would be here.  I am so tied to and love this man, I couldn't have stayed away from him.  He has a disease and it's part of him the same way I have a mental illness that is part of me.   I'm lost at the moment and I don't know what to do, but I know that I don't want to give up.  I just don't know if he has given up.  What I fear the most is that he may have given up on himself.