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Life through bipolar colored lenses

When it's been almost a month since I bloggedHoly cow!  I just realized it’s coming up on a month since I was here last.  I wish I had an exciting story to explain my long absence.  The truth is, depression is a lying bastard.

When I was finally diagnosed with bipolar disorder, my official diagnosis was Bipolar 1, mixed phases, rapid cycling.  In English, that means I can go from one extreme to the other in a matter of minutes, and I can also experience both mania and depression at the same time.

I can have eleventy billion ideas but zero energy to get off the couch and do anything about it.  I can be upset that I have had to remind Sam to do something again, and an hour later, I’m dragging up every single slight against me, real or imagined.  It’s all kinds of fun for him, and makes me just sexy as shit.

Recently my mind has been almost impossible to control.  I fall down more internet rabbit holes, and before I know it I have far too many browser tabs open, and I’ve forgotten what I was looking for.

And so, my manic depression looks like silent blogs and long Netflix binges.  It looks like fast food dinner, and unmade beds.  It looks a whole lot like gut punches and unwanted tears at the most awkward times.

I have purposely stayed away from here.  It’s been two months since Chris died, and I’m moving into the anger stage of grief.  Yes I’m mad at him, but I’m mad at his entire family too.  I have stayed silent here, because I know that this is my one “safe place”.  The place where I can write whatever I want, I can vent, and rage, and point fingers, and place blame.  I have stayed silent because it would serve no good purpose to do any of that.   It would not heal the rift between me and my daughters.  I am pretty sure there are those out there who are just watching and waiting for me to lose my shit, so that they can point it out and make an already painful situation worse.  I won’t give them that satisfaction.

The truth is, depression is a lying bastard.  I have been in this position before.  Actually I have been in a situation similar to this, but much worse.  The last time the girls cut me out of their lives, it was because I went to jail.  The first time they saw me after I was released, they ended up having to send me to a psych ward.  That was four years ago, this October.

The wristband from the psych ward. A reminder of how far I have come.

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I started this blog, to write, just write, about life with bipolar disorder, about a formerly screwed up hot mess who finally grew up, took responsibility and got her shit together.  There are a whole lot of lessons I learned along the way.

The starting point of my comeback was four years ago.  Going to jail, going to the psych ward, trying to commit suicide, twice.  And finally realizing the only way out was through.

Today, I’m stepping into the light.

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