The Bipolar Mommy

When it’s Just Too Much

Today was one of those days. This is a cliche spoken by almost everyone at some point, but for me, it takes on a different meaning. Let me rephrase. Today was one of those bipolar days.

I woke up physically aching, contemplating how I was going to get out of bed and make it through the day. I cuddled with my dog for moral support until the hour made it an impossibility to stay in bed any longer. I honestly can’t remember if I took a shower this morning. By the smell of myself, the answer is probably no. I managed to get myself dressed and drive myself to work without incident. After I pulled into the parking space, I took a second to breathe. God, I do not want to go in there. Please don’t make me go in there. I just can’t do it today. It’s too much.

The funny thing is that I can’t really say why I didn’t want to go in. I don’t hate my job. Nothing bad was going to happen today. I just couldn’t face…..life. I sucked it up, and I put on my big girl pants and got out of the car. I put one foot in front of the other and walked into the building, my legs feeling like they were tied down by two ton weights. I gave a half-hearted wave to Amy the receptionist as I walked in the door. I looked at the stairs. I looked at the elevator. Stairs. Elevator. Stairs. Elevator. Elevator it was.

Unfortunately, two students also wanted to join me in the elevator. I needed a few seconds of solitude before officially being “at work.” I felt suffocated. I survived the elevator ride and walked to my office. Did I mention that I share this same office with seven other people? Seven more people to suck the oxygen out of my life. Once I put my things away, it was time to go out into the Writing Lab to work with students. There is nothing more unbearable when you are having a bipolar day than communicating with people. Tutoring students takes this to the next level.

I skulked away to the corner table. Oh God. He looked at me. My colleague was walking over to say hello. Don’t say hello to me. Just let me be invisible. I want to be invisible. Somehow, I managed a few polite pleasantries, and he went away. The trend continued. People can read me and know I am not feeling well. That is what I tell them. I’m not feeling well. They want to know specifics. They always do. Trust me. They don’t.

Luckily, I only had one student who I managed to help. Then, I had a few minutes to myself to draw while I waited for my next victim, I mean student. Gradually, I was coming out of my fog. I was starting to feel semi-human. I managed to interact with people and survive the rest of my day despite having visions of cursing out students or ending up in a mental hospital.

I survived. Sometimes the art in life is that we manage to survive. I survived today. Hopefully tomorrow will be better.

The Elephant in the Room

Last night at work, a few of us were talking and the subject of my being bipolar came up. One of the other guys with us is also bipolar (therefore, we have bonded). One friend who I will call “D” asked a very understandable question. I will quote as accurately as possible.

“So, what exactly is bipolar? Is it ups and downs? I have a lot of family members that are happy and then they get sad. Doesn’t everybody?”

Again, remember, I am remembering her words to the best of my ability despite the quotation marks.

The other bipolar (I’ll call him V) started to turn beet red. At that instant, we were reading each other’s thoughts.

People just don’t get it.

My explanation to her was that it wasn’t the normal ups and downs, and that it is really hard to describe unless you’ve been there. V had a very accurate description. He described it as being stuck in a deep well, and you’re trying to get out, but you are covered in Vaseline. Yeah, that’s pretty close.

After that conversation, it dawned on me like the elephant in the room. Despite this being a bipolar blog, I haven’t really truly discussed what bipolar disorder is like. For the ten of you who read this blog, I will attempt to explain to the best of my ability.

I have good days and I have bad days, like everyone else. I am lucky that I am on good medication and have a great counselor; therefore, my illness is pretty much under control. Most of the time.

The textbook definition of being bipolar is having extreme highs and lows. But what does that actually mean? Well, during my highs, I am the wittiest, smartest, most powerful person in the world. I am extremely productive. I am oozing with creativity. I want to do crazy and outrageous things, because I’m just that damn amazing. Sometimes, I don’t sleep.

And then, I come down to Earth.

My body gets flu-like symptoms. What many don’t understand is that bipolar disorder also has physical symptoms. I get horrible aches and pains. I have absolutely no energy. I sleep all day. Getting dressed is a Herculean effort. But that’s just the physical stuff. Mentally, I’m a wreck. I go from being incredibly awesome to the biggest loser. I don’t deserve to live. How could anyone love a person like me? I have had days where I had to call in sick to work because I just couldn’t handle things or get out of bed. And sometimes the thoughts come. Deep, dark thoughts. I imagine my own funeral. I see all of the people looming over my casket at my funeral. I’ll think of all the medications in my medicine cabinet and wonder how many pills I would have to take for all of it to be over.

Luckily, because I do what needs to be done to take care of myself, those days are few and far between. I have a wonderful supportive husband and family. I have good friends. I have a job that I like and I’m good at. I am stable. I am lucky.
Many, who are not so lucky, don’t make it. They either live completely miserable lives or commit suicide.

So you can understand why have some anxiety about becoming a mom – a bipolar mom. For many years, many psychiatrists would advise their bipolar patients not to have children because it would be “too much” for them, or because their children might be bipolar. Luckily, most psychiatrists have wised up. Only I know what is truly best for me. If I didn’t think I could handle it, I wouldn’t even try. That doesn’t mean I’m not scared.

I am not really sure if I gave the best description of what it is like, but it’s the best I can do for now.

Questions for Bipolars: What do you think of ECT?

While exploring my treatment options during pregnancy, I spoke with my doctor about the possibility of using ECT verses drugs. Ultimately, I was not a candidate; however, it hasn’t stopped my curiosity about the treatment itself. We have all heard the horror stories or seen movies depicting this procedures as some sort of weird science. I was wondering if anyone had been through this or has a friend or family member who has. I invite you to share your experiences with me.