No sense in beating around the bush. 10 days ago I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Flipped me on my ass, to tell the truth. I had totally lost control of my life; heard things that weren't there, saw things no one else saw. Couldn't stop my racing thoughts long enough to put two meaningful ideas into practice. I was useless at my job, left early three days in a row because I couldn't focus on anything besides the anxiety of what a failure I had turned into. I have never felt such a horrible feeling before; I knew I was nuts, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. So I went home and wallowed in my insanity to the point of such a deep dark depression that I went in my head to the one place no one wants to go. I saw no other end. But I learned from my last go-round with this, and told my ever-loving husband the sad and scary and tormenting thoughts I was having. And we agreed that I needed to go in for help.
Signing yourself in to a psych facility is one of the most difficult things to do for a control freak. "Here--I'm going to give up all of my control to you whom I don't know, in the hope of getting better at some point in the future." And the bitch of it was, after I told my story and admitted everything to this stoic, coiffed, monotonous woman, I get put on the infamous "hold". For those of you who don't know, it is a legal binding hold that keeps you in a psych facility for up to 72 hours. I knew it was coming, but it still stung. And it took three days, but I got answers, and a diagnosis, and a plan. I thought that would make me feel better.
But this disease, this illness, whatever you want to call it, doesn't play by the rules. It makes you second guess your own sanity, your abilities, your dreams, your goals, your life. The self-pitying "why me?" whines in my head, surpassed only by "great, now you're crazy." What nurse, what mother, what wife gets herself wrapped up in a mess like this? My daughter doesn't deserve a nut-job for a mom. My husband shouldn't have to take care of a fool, a psychotic freak. My patients, my job expect a stable nurse that can keep it together every day and get things accomplished. And the fear of this stigma, this judgment, keeps me telling anyone else; not my parents, or my brother, or my coworkers, or anyone besides my one closest friend.
It's amazing how much it takes out of a person just to rehash the crazy. I'll try to bring it together some more here in a day or two.
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