I Really Hate This

About two years ago, after 7 years of treatment for depression, I was re-diagnosed with bipolar disorder. It was liberating and terrifying, vindicating and disheartening, great and terrible; all those oxymorons that are bipolar in and of themselves. It was wonderful to finally understand what the heck was "wrong" with me but also awful, because I finally understood what the heck was wrong with me.

After struggling with this for the past two years, and knowing I'm nowhere near done and not nearly as awesome, strong or patient as people I know who've struggled with this for a lifetime, I thought I would take a minute or two, on a good day, to let you all know what bipolar disorder looks/feels like. It might also help to realize that when bipolar hits, it hits hard and fast, with little or no warning and can stay for as long or as little time as it wants.

So, think of an earthquake; it can hit at any time in any place and can affect a relatively small area or, as we've recently seen, a huge area. It can cause damage and wreak havoc on things that are totally unrelated to the ground shaking but that have a lasting effect on the quality of life for weeks and months to come. It is surprising, shocking, painful and always requires time to rebuild when it's over. This is what bipolar disorder feels like to the people who love someone or care for someone who is bipolar. It comes out of nowhere and shakes everything, sometimes to the very foundations of what their relationships are built on.

Now, think of a tornado. There's always a little warning. A storm or a flat sky...some small signal. But there's usually not much time between that little warning and the touchdown. Like an earthquake, a tornado can be relatively small or it can be really big, as we have also recently seen. It twists and turns malevolently, it thunders and roars, it tears through things that seem solid or unmovable and terrifies everyone in its' path. And then, of a sudden, it's gone. The swath of destruction it leaves behind causes grief and heartache to those who have been affected by it and the silence in place of the cacophony of noise is almost ear shattering. And like an earthquake, there is always rebuilding to be done. This is how I feel when I get "in one of my moods." I feel it coming but am powerless to actually do anything to stop it. I rage and rip around, saying and doing things that have the power to break apart what needs to remain strong. And always there is the heartbreaking realization, when the storm is over, of what I've done, and what needs to be mended.

From the outside looking in, (and speaking from personal experience) bipolar is hard to understand and frequently is seen as nothing more than a scapegoat for bad attitudes or stupid behavior. If you wake up feeling depressed, just choose not to be. Attitude is everything, right? If you're getting mad, take a breather. If you're getting manic, just calm down. Sure everybody has hard days but you ultimately choose what kind of day you're going to have, right?

Well from the inside looking out, it's so much more difficult than that. Waking up feeling depressed feels more like swimming for miles in the ocean. After a while, it's so tempting to stop; to quit swimming and just let yourself go under. The fact that I'm still alive means I haven't given up. It may be all I can do to just float, with no thought about where I may be headed. But I haven't gone under, and that's the most important part. Getting mad isn't really accurate because it feels more like that tornado...that tiny little warning signals and then BOOM - touchdown. Sometimes the tiniest, stupidest things flip that switch. I see the signal and before I even have time to really process what happened, I'm tearing around like a tornado. (The most horrible part of THIS is I feel like I stand looking at myself from the outside and shaking my head...knowing how hard life is going to be when my personal tornado has ended.)

I guess what I really want you to know is that it's not all lollipops and rainbows, people. It's not easy to know you (and , by extension, your family) are going to deal with this for the rest of your life. It's not fun knowing that you are going to have days, no matter how much you try to prevent them, where you feel like you're living alone in a black hole that nobody else in the whole universe is aware of. It's heartbreaking (especially for loved ones) to realize that when you're really down, you're going to be firmly convinced that there isn't a single person in the world that you can call on for help.

The only saving grace in all of this is the fact that Jesus Christ suffered what I suffer and not only understands completely but also knows how to help me. He knows where I need to focus first when I need to rebuild. He knows which people to put into my life to kick my butt, which ones I'll need to empathize and which ones I'll need to be life preservers. He knows it all and it's only because of Him that I don't give up and go under. I'm still here. I haven't given up. Please don't give up on me!