I’ve been in a mixed state for the past couple of weeks (that’s hypomania combined with depression – not sleeping, high anxiety, awful irritability) and I’m exhausted but I’m also going to be okay. It’s in the knowledge that this feeling passes that has shown me God’s love this week.
Category Archives: How My Brain Works
Only 145 days to go! It’s definitely interesting doing this challenge just using my cell phone. The quality of the photos is not good but it’s a lot more convenient!
In the tenderness my two-year-old is capable of demonstrating toward a tiny, vulnerable animal, I find God’s love.
Selfish because energy is lacking? Because tears too readily fall? Back off with your loose lips flapping, If you’ve heard one you’ve heard ’em all. It’s easy to judge from outside the disease, Point fingers and offer advice, Maybe, just maybe, stop your ignorance please, Your judgment comes at a price. The price you pay you’ll come to see Is stigma perpetuated, friendship wilted, Don’t tell me what is wrong with me, I won’t be bullied, I won’t be guilted. Depression is not selfish. Take heed. Depression is disease NOT choice, It’s not uneducated opinions I need. If you’re my friend, then hear my voice! No one would wish to feel this way! So kindly keep your wisdom to yourself, Be mindful of the words you say. Do your research; I’m too tired to explain to someone else.
I can speak only to what I know of the subjects of poverty and mental illness. I’m sure studies have been done regarding the link between the two, but this isn’t about those studies. Nor do I mean to imply that people who are middle class or wealthy cannot have mental illnesses. It happens, I know, across all demographics. However, I do question the link between chronic, persistent mental illness and not having enough money to meet basic human needs. I, at least, have a job and insurance so that I can see a doctor and afford my medications, and somehow, with the help of food pantries, help from family and payday loans (a very poor solution, that one, but sometimes necessary when you run out of gas money or toilet paper before payday). My anxiety level has been so high almost constantly for the past few years. If you’ve never struggled to provide for your family, you may not understand. If you’ve never had a panic attack, you may not understand. Right now, even with the medication for anxiety and for depression (because, though I have bipolar disorder, I’m depressed much more often than I am manic), I’m not myself and not really sure who that self is anymore. I wanted better for my children than this. I grew up poor. You’d think I’d be used to it, right? Even as a child, I worried about money, rarely asked for anything because I didn’t want my parents to feel bad that they couldn’t afford something that wasn’t a necessity. I cry myself to sleep. I am trying so hard to be a good person, a good wife and mother and a good provider. I am trying so hard to trust that God’s providence covers us too, but at this moment, having to choose gas for the car so I can go to and from work over buying groceries, I feel like a failure. On top of the anxiety and depression, there is the poverty. Poverty is full of fear for me. It is also full of shame because as much stigma surrounds it as surrounds mental illnesses. I am just a person. I like to laugh, I love my family and if I could just be happy, I would. I often wonder, if I wasn’t always feeling like I’m walking on a thin, almost invisible line between having enough and not having enough, would I still have panic attacks? Would I still cry myself to sleep and be so easily irritated that I feel as though I’d be better off alone? I can’t answer those questions. I can only repeat that I am just a person, like anyone else.
Some people seem to want me to be ashamed of myself for having bipolar disorder, thinking I should hide it from the world. Some think if I have a problem I should always keep it to myself. Some think they are better than I am because I don’t have money. Some think because I’m not perfect, I’m not a Christian. Some think, well whatever they think, and I’m trying not to care but I feel like there is no one on this earth who understands. I feel so alone. I feel betrayed. I feel hurt… oh but shhhh, there I go again, being open. Why do I bother? Maybe all of those someones are right and I’m worthless because I’m poor and mentally ill and not perfect. I’m just too exhausted to care anymore! I don’t want all this hurt, all this worry. I need a break.