the depression is so bad you feel like you have failed everyone and everything and as much as you want to go to sleep and not wake up you have to keep on breathing.
Such was me a few weeks ago, me before coming off the Zoloft.
The Zoloft that made life worst. The Zoloft that made me feel crazy. The Zoloft that made me want to harm myself. The Zoloft that made me put the breaks on while driving because I thought someone was crossing the road and when I blinked no one was there (among other stories), The Zoloft that made me dream dreams that I thought were real, absolute. The Zoloft that did not mix well with alcohol. The Zoloft that did not let me sleep but yet made me feel like I wanted to go to sleep and not wake up. The Zoloft that made me paranoid. The Zoloft that changed me.
Now I am off the Zoloft, and in just a couple of weeks I already feel a ton better, not ‘normal me’ better, but not Zoloft crazy.
Back one one of my old faithful medications, Tegertol.
I cannot believe it has been 2 years since I first started the Bipolar Whispers blog. I started this in a Manic high to let out frustrations to write to my hearts content and to express things I could not even begin to express in my ‘real’ life.
This past year was a lot slower than the first 6 months or so of the blog, but lately I have been trying to get some content out. Thanks to everyone who has been reading for the past two years and thanks to all my new readers.
Be sure to read through my older content, you will find a lot of good information and a lot of soulful and heart felt writings there.
Lets hope that I can get back to the basic reasons for starting this blog and make year 3 fantastic.
I am underwater. Looking up I can see a dim filtered light but I am unable to break the surface. I am suffocating, water leaking into my lungs. I am drowning. Sinking deeper and deeper beneath the surface.
I am only just admitting to myself that I am depressed.
It has been coming for a while, maybe it has even been here for a while. But I would not admit that there was a problem. I have been hiding it from everyone, including myself.
I don’t want to do anything, I don’t want to go anywhere and I am not sleeping well night time, and am tending to somewhat sleep in the late morning early afternoon, and even then its not good sleep. I do not want to drag myself out of bed when I wake up. Even when I am awake I just want to lay there and not do anything.
I feel like a failure of a mother and wife because I feel that the things my children are going to remember about me right now is the fact that I am doing these things. I should be more present. I feel like a failure of a friend because I don’t give a shit if I go anywhere or do anything, I am letting the people closest to me down and I am so frustrated with myself.
I feel like a failure because I have went the past 9 months without medications and for the most part I was doing well. Don’t get me wrong I am not naive, I know Bipolar disorder does not just disappear, that it would rear its ugly head at some point.
I look in the mirror and I hate the person I see. I curse her. She is nothing…. I am nothing.
I let my writing fall to the wayside over the past year. I haven’t written anything seriously in months and have not written anything worthwhile or with substance for this blog in a year or at least pretty close to that.
I feel like I have let myself down, let my blogger friends and readers down and that I really need to start creatively writing again.
I have been told I do my best writing when I just let it flow, when I do not force it to happen and I write from my heart. I write with depth and meaning when I write from somewhere deep within myself. Whether that be depression writing or Mania writing or just something more I am honestly not sure where it comes from. Most times, as I have written in the past my fingers fly over the keyboard or my pen over the paper so freely and so quickly that I just write.
There have been times when I have re-read my writing and not remembered writing it. Times when I have not recognized the thoughts that my mind put together, not recognized the writing on the page.
Right now I am at a place where I want to write. I want to create. I want my ideas and my passions to flow through my writing. I feel the need to write because writing for me is a form of therapy, one of the best that I can receive and one I can give myself.
I have been blogging here for a year. A whole year.
I started Bipolar Whispers in a manic phase. A time when I was full of possibility. Another grand idea was formed because of mania.
A time when my ability to write came back. Back after years of dealing with horrific writers block.
There were days when I wrote several articles, days when I published more than once. Days when I did not publish at all.
Days when what I was writing made total sense, and days when I wrote in gibberish.
There were days when I was stuck inside my head, days when the words were screaming to be written but I couldn’t form more than a few coherent sentences.
I wrote with passion. I wrote deep truths. I wrote about pasts. I wrote about futures. And I wrote about right now as the words were forming.
I wrote with questions, and I wrote looking for answers.
Sometimes I found the answers, and oftentimes I found many many more questions.
I wrote when I was manic. I wrote when I was hypomanic. I wrote when I was depressed. I wrote when I was flat and I wrote when my mood was ‘normal’.
Sometimes I didn’t write at all. Because whatever I may have been dealing with at that time was bigger. Bigger that I was able to deal with, bigger than I was able to write about, bigger than I was okay with.
But Bipolar Whispers became so much to me. It became a haven. A place to go and not worry about anything to bare it all and let it all out.
I met great friends through blogging. I have read other peoples stories, their life stories and understood. I related to them. I understood them and they understood me.
Even when I disappeared for a bit because the medical issues in our family was more than I was able to deal with, you were all here when I got back. You continued to embrace me and hold me up. You held my hand, and you gripped my heart.
Some of the most understanding people, some of the easiest people to write to, some of the easiest people to relate to have been the blogging friends I have made because of Bipolar Whispers.
And I thank you from the bottom of my heart for being here, for reading, for listening, and for hanging on.
I am over half the age my father was when he passed away at just 61 years old. 61, felt old to me at the time….I was 13, but in retrospect it wasn’t old at all. He was just sick, he fought long and hard and tried to hang on to see me grown up. He would always say “If I can just live to see her grown up”. I was the youngest by 11 years. My youngest brother is actually 11 years OLDER than me, next I have a sister, and then another two brothers. My oldest brother actually got two children who are older than me.
So yes, I was a surprise. Not a mistake, they would never call me that. But I was a gift, something that came along at a time in their lives that was just unexpected. They shocked a few family members after my arrival.
I was very young when my father first got sick. I remember an oxygen tank always adorning our house as well as regular mask treatments for breathing. I liked to help out. But when he got sick-sick, like ready to be in hospital kind of sick, it was always scary.
No one likes to watch their parent struggle. In the end, he struggled to breathe on a daily basis. Walking steps was a chore. If he went outside and came back in he would have to stop half way up the steps to the door just to let his body catch up to his breathing or his breathing to regulate and catch up to his body, whichever way you want to look at it. Everything was so labored. Then when he made it to the door and into the porch he would have to rest again before he was even able to take off his coat or bend to take off his shoes.
He spent some time in hospital before Christmas that year. Was released and spent Christmas with us, only to be re-admitted in January and he passed away on February 1st.
At 13, I was not ready. Nor did I have the mental and emotional capacity to understand and process what had happened. Every other time he had been that sick, he spent a few weeks in hospital and then came home with us again. This time was different and I would have given anything for it to have all been some cruel joke or mistake.
But, it was no joke, no mistake.
A rush of air left my lungs, as if someone punched me in the gut….and then my heart began aching. I crumpled into my brothers arms.
That is how I remember it. That moment so long ago that changed and molded me into something different than what I might have been.
Today, I realize that I am over half the age my father was when he passed away. Over half way through. It was sad to realize this. But it was also clarifying.
Where am I in my life? If you knew that half of your life has already been lived what would you do? Where would you want to be? What goals would you want to have accomplished? What would you change?
I am scared because I do not know if I am where I should be at this point in life. I know there are some things which I have accomplished that I am proud of. Being married, and our three children being the most prominent.
But where exactly do I want my life to go? I do not want to have any more regrets. I realize that I need to take control of my life or nothing is ever going to change.
I know I want to be loved deeply and to love deeply. This is big for me.
I know I want to be the best mother that I can be. I know I want to continue to blog about mental health, and advocate for those same issues.
But then what? What is next in this life for me? Do I continue to let life pass me by, and have regrets that I did nothing to mend and fix the problems that we currently have. I know my life is not headed in the direction that I wanted it to be, so my sails need to pick up some wind, change my direction.
But the difficulty lies in making decisions for me, and learning to deal with the changes, and following through.