Let me start by saying that I am blessed, and then let me tell you the rest.
I have a nice home. I have a nice family. And yes there are struggles. Some minor, some a little more urgent at times than perhaps what some other families go through daily. But overall I am blessed. This is my temporary home, and I look forward to the day of being in my permanent home with my Lord and Savior, and my family and friends.
Having said that, if you asked me to tell you the worst thing about having Bipolar Disorder, I would say it is a LIAR.
It just flat lies. You can try to fancy up some sort of elegant sentence that eloquently and precisely states that synapses over-fire, mis-fire, under-fire; damage to nerves in the brain; chemical imbalance, blah & etc, all absolutely true, by the way.
But what that boils down to is that I am being lied to, and often.
Tonight, I feel utterly and completely alone in this world, and I feel weak, vulnerable and raw. I could even possibly be a danger to myself, but if I edge my way further to that point, I will get help from my family or BP support friends.
Tonight, I could tell you that no one cares. That people respond only if I reach out to them first. That people don’t seem to have a hard time missing me, as I miss them. That a loved one doesn’t mind sitting in the same house, or even in the same room, and doing something completely and utterly different and having nothing to do with me for days, even weeks in a row. I could tell you no one in this house knows what I’m feeling.
That’s completely ridiculous of course, because my son also has Bipolar Disorder, so right there I can rationally see that this Bipolar venomous gas is creating the dense fog that lies to me. The thing is, it’s convincing, and it’s manipulative, and it is hard to work my way free of it; to breathe in clean air and replenish my burnt, withering lungs. This is one of those nights, and right now the only thing that is working is the asthma inhaler.
This is me. Real. Being lied to and feeling crummy.