From the Depths

When I was a kid the world was huge. Bright blue skies, the warm sun and a soft wind across my face was all I needed to feel the beauty of the world. I had plenty of friends to cause trouble with and though things were not good at home, I felt connected to the ebbs and flow of the planet. As I grew older and got married, started a family, the world only grew brighter. Life was an adventure and I was truly happy.

Around the age of 25, I developed bipolar disorder. It was then that the world began to shrink slowly. I started by dropping social contacts, I was never in the mood to hang out anymore or make new friends. My family kept me sane and able to work. Thus the wide open world was narrowed to family time, grocery shopping, and work. On rare occasions the world opened up a little for concerts or parties, but I did not seek these out anymore. My infinite vision of time had become foggy. I could see a month or two in advance. Bills, birthdays, important events dictated my schedule. I threw myself into work, the only thing outside of home that I was engaged in. Work was something normal people did. As the years continued, I developed anxiety disorder and PTSD.

At this point I started to lose control over my life. I worked even harder, trying desperately to maintain a normal life. I had bursts of anger where I would yell and scream at my husband and children. Then I would plummet into a depression, feeling like shit for what I had done. I had reckless mania where I would spend our savings on toys and special treats for the kids and my husband. These moments were the only happiness I felt for a while. Nothing could pull me out of the vicious cycle of mood swings and a dark cloud seemed to follow me. I had no concept of time at this point. Everything was a blur of intense emotion, I was trapped in my head. My children got used to hiding from mommy. They never knew if I'd be angry and yelling, depressed and wanting to be alone, or manic and wanting to go have fun. It was confusing for them to say the least.

It wasn't until I started to lose my ability to be around people that I finally swallowed my pride and asked for help. I expected to get prescribed meds and feel instantly better. I let down my guard and allowed myself free range. This was the biggest mistake I've ever made. I began 2 straight years of reckless action. Sexual promiscuity, excessive use of drugs and alcohol, and selfishness. I was so busy doing me that I lost sight of that family that held me together. I started treatment roughly 4 years ago and it has taken me until now to find the right medication combo.

So 4 years later, am I cured? Fuck no, but I'm finally aware. I can see my children again and am doing everything in my power to earn their forgiveness. I know what it feels like to have an extreme surge of emotion and have learned to talk about it with my loved ones. I have a goal for who I'd like to be again and I'm making progress towards it. My world is today. One day at a time. If I work hard enough just maybe I'll feel the sun and wind on my face once again.