Standing on the Shore

I tend to take on a task…or several tasks…and put everything I have completely into it…or them…for a good, fast, hard, short burst…then…I’m out.
Peace.

Writing is a wonderful outlet. …Writing, at least for ME, though therapeutic, is extremely emotionally draining.
EXTREMELY…emotionally…draining…

Deep, cleansing breath:
A while ago, I’d posted something to social media and received quite the response, in specific to my mention of mental health. In specific to my mention of mental illness. In specific to my mention of bipolar depression. I want to delve into this just a little deeper than mentioning it in passing…because I think that it’s something that is so vitally important to be discussed…and, so often, it gets swept under the bright yellow and white chevron rug.
To me, mental illness has always been present…I remember being very small and knowing that something wasn’t quite right…but not having the words to express what I was feeling. Not knowing how to express waves of such massive and heavy sadness…and waves of anxiety…and waves of fear…and waves of exhaustion…and waves of hyperactivity…
Waves.
Some of the tallest and widest waves I’ve ever metaphorically seen and physically felt.
And…it isn’t uncommon to be simultaneously pushed under by a wave of sadness while being swirled around by a wave of anxiety and being tossed upward by a wave of hyperactivity…all…at…the…same…time…
And, to a parent, to a teacher, to a friend…to a stranger…I’m sure it looked completely “normal.” Of course it did. And it still does, at times. I wasn’t then…and I’m not now going to let anyone know that it felt like I‘m being crushed by an unidentified, invisible ocean in my chest.
I can be a master at deception. MANY people with mental illness can be. Shocking, I know.
Just because you don’t see or hear someone’s ocean, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.
For several years, I used various substances to alter those waves… Trying to minimize the current…
OR
Attempting to intensify the rush…
OR
Having absolutely no idea how I wanted the feeling to be changed…only knowing that I needed it to feel different and I desperately needed it to feel different now…
I failed with substances to maintain a level of stability.
I failed with food. I failed with exercise. I failed with relationships.
I failed.
I had failed. I am not failing.
I am well aware that I cannot manage my extreme highs and lows with anything other than a prescription…and regularly scheduled therapy sessions with an informed professional.
I cannot manage my extreme highs and lows with Jesus alone.
I cannot manage my extreme highs and lows with a 12 step program alone.
I cannot manage my extreme highs and lows with my husband or my children alone.
It is a combined effort and intricate balance of all of those things…along with a prescription and regularly scheduled therapy sessions with an informed professional.
(Note: This requires honesty on my part when conversing with the professional. It took me a long time to realize that feeding bullshit to the person with the ability to help transform the waves into a gentle ebb and flow was of no psychological benefit…and, in the end, I’d still owe a copay.)

With that said: While pregnant…actually, it was few months before trying to conceive…I came off my prescription with the approval and assistance of my doctor. I’ve been unmedicated. Unmedicated for the longest stretch that I can remember.
And I feel good.
Good.
I feel level.
Level.
…I know it won’t last. I know that…
I cannot manage my extreme highs and lows with self control alone.
I cannot manage my extreme highs and lows with gratitude alone.

I’ve been known to use the phrase:
“I’m depressed…not delusional.”
Though I can see very clearly the things and people for which I am grateful…there are times in which I cannot physically or emotionally feel gratitude.
And it is not my fault. And I am not ashamed.
My doctor had explained that I would probably feel fairly balanced while pregnant. I did. And I have still…for the most part.
I have moments…moments of “Oh-my-God-I-have-a-newborn-that-never-sleeps-for-more-than-15-minutes-at-a-time”…moments of “Why-don’t-I-feel-like-I-know-what-I’m-doing-for-Pete’s-sake-I’ve-done-this-before”…moments of “Jesus-Christ-I-look-so-fucking-fat-I-hate-what-I-see-when-I-look-in-that-damn-mirror”…mixed with moments of clarity…and peace…and pride…
And, so far, my moments of dread and doom…and the racing thoughts with the heart that feels like it could burst right out of my chest…
…and the waves…
…they’ve all been fleeting…

I want you to know, if you’ve felt this way, you’re not alone.
I want you to know, if you love someone who struggles with this, he/she/they are not being selfish, and he/she/they are not alone.
I want you to know, if you’re a new mom and you’re reading this and you’re trying to discount postpartum depression because you think you’re “just emotional right now” and that “everything will balance out”…you could be right…BUT…just to be safe…please talk to someone…and you’re not alone.
I want you to know…I want your children to know…I want your parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, teachers, and friends to know: THERE IS NOTHING SHAMEFUL ABOUT MENTAL ILLNESS.
I am not proud to have bipolar depression; but I am definitely not ashamed.

Far too often, this topic is whispered about behind closed doors (if spoken about at all). And, truthfully, sometimes a whisper takes all of the strength and courage a person can muster…
So, if you don’t identify with any of this: Wonderful. I’m truly very happy for you. Please be listening for the whisper of others.
And, if you do identify with any of this: Wonderful. I’m truly very happy you’ve read this…You are not alone.
If you’ve gotten help already: Wonderful. Please be listening for the whisper of others.
And, if you haven’t: Keep whispering until you have the strength to yell.