#26

There's a No. 26 to my previous 25 revealing things. I believe that being honest about mental health helps to educate people, and that if sharing my story can help just one person in my situation, then it's worth it. When I told people I struggled with depression, they shared their stories. When I was diagnosed with the panic disorder, More people asked questions and revealed their own struggles to me.
Well, as luck you have it, I am officially a mess. I've always been a happy person. Sometimes too happy. So excited that I'd grab Jasen and shake him too hard. Drive too fast. Spend too much. Or do things that were completely out of character, like sewing (which I hate), or staying up all night. Running on no sleep. Little Food. Little thought process. My life would fly by like a movie...without me participating, but as a spectator. I would feel like I wasn't myself. Think thing that I normally wouldn't think. Consider things I normally wouldn't consider. And occasionally, the happiness would get so out of control, my brain, and actions, were out of control as well.
After years of struggling to hide what I knew was Bipolar disorder, I hit another manic phase. A bad one. Some people spend money, drink, have sex, leave their lives, or use drugs to get through the high that is mania. I did none of these things. But I did put relationships at risk with behavior that is totally not like me.
My official diagnosis? Bipolar I with a lower-level of disassociation, non-psychotic episodes and no hospitalization needed. I know...a long-assed diagnosis. Which at first scared the petunias out of me. Basically, it means that when I'm manic, there are risks. For me, it's to relationships. Because I act in ways that aren't true to my self. I'm irrational. I don't think about what I'm doing or saying. And that hurts other people. Disassociation means I literally feel like a different person. I don't remember some of the mania. I act out of character, and don't understand why or what I've done after it's over. It's not multiple personalities...I'm not that crazy. It's hard to describe, but it's been researched, and does exist.
There's a cycle to Bipolar. Ups and downs. Mine are far and few between. A "dangerous" mania once every 4-5 years. They last a few weeks, and I'll either do something out of character, or be the happiest person you've ever met. Like I'm jumping out of my skin with elation. I don't cycle through the lows because I was already on antidepressants. Some people cycle several times a day. I don't envy them.
This is part of the reason I've decided to do a total mind, body and soul renewal. I'm in semi-intensive therapy. I'm seeing a new psychiatrist every 6 weeks. I'm taking a new medication (Lamictal, which regulates my brainwaves to stop the manias. It's not quite a mood stabilizer like Lithium). I've lost 20 pounds, and take better care of my body. I try to look in the mirror and not gag.
I'm working on my marriage more than ever and trying my damnedest to fix what I've almost broken. And I'm learning about my condition as much as possible. A second child may not happen, because the risks are too much with my new meds, and a mania could be even worse with the pregnancy hormones. So that's a downer. But other than that, things are slowly getting better.

A friend of mine told me a few weeks ago that "I wish I could spend one day in your body...In your life. You're so lucky."
Yes, I am. I lead an extremely charmed life. My husband is supportive, forgiving, an amazing provider, and is helping to change our relationship. My son rocks. My house rocks. My family rocks. And I'm not totally unattractive.
But step inside. First I spend my childhood and teen years not knowing I was having panic attacks. Then I spent years trying to dig myself out of depression. I've spent years hiding my mania. Thinking there was something seriously wrong with me. Nervous. Scared. Terrified someone would find me out. Hiding within my mind.
I look in the mirror and don't see what others see. I see cellulite. Huge pores. Bulges. And a woman who has struggled to love her mind and body ever since I can remember. I've been on accutane three times. I was on facial antibiotics more times than I can remember. I was on Retin-A for countless years. And I have the internal, and external scars to show that acne is a real bitch.

I know there's a stigma assigned to Bipolar. And it's there for a reason. Some people are completely out of control. And I feel for them. It's hard to give up a high that is so amazing I can't find the words. Finding words is my thing. And the depression some people feel are so deep, so dark, that suicide is their way out. They become desolate. Homeless. Obese. The statistics are terrifying.
That's not me. I'm not a threat to anyone. I'm a good mother. I'm a good person. I'm a good friend. And I'm not scared anymore of who I really am. I'm crying right now as I write this, but that's just because it's freeing to finally reveal something I've spent so long denying.

We can't hide from who we are. We can't change our chemistry. If you looked at my brain on an MRI during a manic episode, it literally looks different than yours. I can't help that. But I can help myself control the urges and phases. I can take my medications. I can talk to my therapist. I can ask for help. I can be more honest. And maybe by making myself vulnerable, a target for the jokes and stigmas, I can help someone else. We are who we are. And some day, everyone must face that fact. For me, I hope to accept it and maybe even embrace it.