Telling the Truth

Going in to see my psychiatrist tomorrow... let's see how this goes.

I have always had a problem telling the truth to my doctors. It isn't that I don't want to get better or something like that, it's that I'm scared of admitting certain things. I already hate appointments. I hate going in to speak to someone I barely know and talking about everything that hurts me and everything that I do wrong. It's exhausting and very unpleasant. And over the past few years I have made a lot of progress, but it is still hard for me to admit certain things. So I lie. And bend the truth in a way that hides what I'm not comfortable talking about. I understand how wrong this is, but I have always been about self-preservation. That probably has to do with my paranoia. (Ironically, my paranoia is what I never talk about). But I'm at a tipping point, and a window has been opened. I think I'm at a place where I can actually tell the truth. It isn't because I'm in a good place, not at all. I'm exhausted and frustrated enough that I just don't care that much. I don't know how long I'll be like this, but hopefully I still have it in me tomorrow for my appointment. Wish me luck!

Verge of a breakdown

So I'm sure everyone who has read any of my entries thus far can surmise, I'm on the verge of a breakdown. On Monday, my school hosted a student panel of mental illness sufferers, with them talking about their struggles in an attempt to fight the stigma associated with their disorders. I felt I need to go, maybe other stories would help me in the crisis I was experiencing. Well, it did. All the personal accounts were moving, but one was special. I had met the speaker before, very briefly months ago. It was a drunk greeting on a Saturday night because the friends each of us was with knew each other. I would have never guessed what he was going through at the time. He was dealing with severe depression, self harm, and suicidal thoughts. During his presentation of his story, I started bawling. Although we do not share the exact same experiences, something he had said flipped a switch. It woke me up.

Its not because he is miraculously better or all of a sudden he leads a normal, stable life. Its because he is able to say that he is happy he is alive, at least for that day. To feel like that, even for just a day, would make the struggle seem like just maybe it might be worth it.

I think happiness is less of an achievement, something that once earned is constant, but more of an ebb and flow. Although one must constantly work toward happiness, it will never be constant, and sometimes come and go for no reason. But when you do find yourself happy, we have to cherish it, and let its afterglow light the way through a dark night if it follows.

This is not how I thought my life would be.

When I was in kindergarten, all I could do was dream of the future. I wanted to do and try everything. There were hints of mental illness even at that age, but nothing seemed unusual until about seventh grade or so. I had thought the world was open and free for me to explore, never in a million years would I have thought I would be so unhappy. I just feel like my mood and paranoia have all the control, and I, whatever I am, am at the mercy of the disturbances in my mind. And there are so many things I could be doing to make my situation better, like regularly staying on my meds and being truthful with my doctors. But I just can't. I am so afraid to ever admit anything is wrong or ask for help, that I have let all of this get out of hand. There are so many things I would have done differently in my life to cause less pain for myself, and for my family and friends. I'm just scared it may be too late to fix anything....

But I have to keep telling myself that it isn't too late. I've heard it said that hope is the only thing stronger than fear, and I pray that that's true. Because hope is the only thing that can get me through now. I have to believe that some semblance of happiness is attainable. It just has to get better. And the more I tell myself that it will get better, the more I believe it.

I going to say it now: I refuse to let a mental illness take away what is mine, my life. This disorder, though it will always influence aspects of my life, will not stop me from where I want to go. And whoever is out there reading this, should know the same goes for you. Mental illness is a brick wall in our path, but it's just an obstacle, not an impenetrable barrier. With the support of your family, friends, doctors, and others who experience mental illness, we can all make it over the wall. Sometimes people will offer their help, but many times it is up to you to reach out and ask others to support you. You don't have to do it alone, and shouldn't have to. Life is messy for everyone, mental disorder or not, but chaos doesn't negate happiness. And even if we've made mistakes, that doesn't mean its too late to take the right steps. We all have to learn to forgive ourselves, and understand life is full of second, third and fourth chances. We are not defined by what life throws at us, but by how we handle it right now. The past is the past, we can only have control over what we're doing in the present.

Hopefully someday I will believe it.

I just feel like a walking disaster...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PHx-xqs3hO8

Helpful/Hopeful Quote

This quote gave me some hope, maybe it will give you some too:

“One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.”

Self Medication and Self Identity

Self medicating- always sounds like a terrible idea, until you try it.

I've always had issues with the psych meds that have been prescribed to me and alter my dosage depending on what my day looks like. I'm on Risperdal, which makes me super tired and gain weight (ugh the worst :/). But it also alters my personality a little bit. By that I mean that it makes me more rational (which is good), but being rational makes me more aware of people around me. In school, it makes giving presentations and other meetings difficult because of anxiety. When I'm not on meds, I don't give a sh*t about what other people think of me in that way (at least when I'm manic), so presentations are easier. I'll plan ahead and stop taking my meds strategically so I'll be off them for stuff like that. Not smart, I know. But I keep doing it...

Messing with my prescription is one thing, bad but not too bad unless I've been off too long and get out of control. What has been a little bit more frightening is my self-medicating with other substances-- namely alcohol. I'm a college student, drinking is just part of the experience, right? Most of the time I'm fine, can control myself and drink responsibly. But every so often, I drink for the WRONG reasons, to numb the pain or create a false sense of happiness. Looking back, it doesn't even really work that well, it usually just makes me feel worse, but I continue to do it. I just feel so empty. Well, not exactly. I feel like there's a giant hole in my chest that's filled with a chaotic mess of emotions. I don't know what I'm feeling most of the time (which I assume is a mixed mood?),  and I don't know if what I'm feeling is real and rational, or just another episode of bipolar symptoms.

I guess that's the heart of the matter. I don't know who I am. And I'm scared the best parts of me aren't actually me, but the disease. I feel like if I could post on facebook what my relationship status with my illness, it would be "it's complicated with Bipolar". I'm just incredibly confused. I would say I miss knowing myself, that I miss some semblance of sanity, but those are things which I don't think I've ever known... I guess the best way to describe how I'm feeling is like Peter Pan when he's separated from his shadow. I just want to be me and know me, but there's a piece of my soul missing, covered and convoluted by all of this bipolar garbage. I'm having trouble finding my shadow.