This is the story of my struggle with Bipolar Disorder type 1. It's my raw acceptance of having the disorder but my refusal to let it take me down. It isn't nice, it isn't pretty, but it's my reality. I'm also an avid cyclist and can usually be found on two wheels.
I tell myself this every day
Monday, June 3, 2013
I Never Wanted To Cease To Exist, Just Disappear- Part 1
This is going to be one of the hardest posts I make.
1 out of 3 people with bipolar attempt suicide.
Mortality from suicide in bipolar people is 18%-25%
It usually happens in the depression stages.
I have rapid cycling. I can have a depressive state a couple times a day, a couple times a week, a couple times a month, or a couple times a year. Some years I've had none but since 2010 it's happened more and more frequently.
This is the most recent suicide note I've left.
I've left one other that was almost just like this. I don't really remember. I had taken a lot of muscle relaxers, sleeping pills, pain killers, and alcohol.
It didn't work that time because I was too healthy. I ate right, worked out regularly, and got plenty of sleep so my body was able to pull through, albeit sick and sleepy for a week.
I'm glad it didn't work that time or the time I wrote this note.
I'm not a weak person. I never want to kill myself. I never even think about that possibility. The world is tough, difficult, and full of shit but I never let that get me down. I'm always fighting and doing it with a smile.
It's a direct product of the parasite.
I have a hair trigger self destruct button and I hate it.
I've lost countless friends to suicide directly related to bipolar. Most important of all I lost my grandmother to suicide. She was as bipolar as I am. Same type. Same frequency of episodes.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I don't want to be that person. I want a success story.
I have 2 daughters- my oldest (8 years old) has the disorder. She has my severe version of it.
I want a success story for my children and especially for my daughter Faye.
I have to show her that no matter what mommy's tough and she can be tougher.
Every goddamn day I fight for a better life. Every waking moment I pull myself up thinking "it could always be worse." I surround myself with awesome people, I have a lot of potential in everything I do, I love taking care of myself and my body, and I have a great family (some of it chosen, some of it blood).
I love life. I genuinely do.
When the depression hits this low it's unbearable.
It's a different level of depression when this hits.
The wreckage inside of me is overwhelming and almost instantaneous. My thoughts race, my body feels weak, and the parasite digs it's tentacles in like a corkscrew.
Racing thoughts are a huge problem with bipolar and I have then when in any bad cycle. My brain works 100x faster than most people's. Doesn't always make me smarter- just makes for almost no patience, impulsive behavior, and really bad self control. When the depression gets going my mind races incredibly fast and thinks of every challenge in my life and all the hurdles I've failed to overcome or did poorly.
It piles everything on top of me at once. A couple mile long landfill constructed and filled to the brim in a couple of moments.
The sane part of me- the person who I really am is gone. I am nowhere to be found. This level of the disorder is the only time that voice inside me isn't screaming and trying to get out. Dead silence except for every bit of frustration and pain I'm going through and have gone through. A lifetime of struggle brought to the surface in seconds. Solutions to life's problems are a long hall of open doors- violently throwing themselves shut. Options transform into dead ends.
This is not me. That person is mentally sick. That is the parasite. It wants full control or it wants me dead.
I do not get overwhelmed and give up. I am not weak.
I have a severe chemical imbalance. My mind tries to destroy itself.
I would never choose to end my life.
It's the single most horrific aspect of the disorder.
When I'm ok and sane it's terrifying when I think about it. It's the same fear as having someone set on trying to kill you. Walking down a dark alley that someone has tried to shoot you in before- and that person might still be there.
Someone is trying to kill me and I don't want to die.
I'm scared of that person and rightfully so. I'm scared because I'm not around when that person surfaces.
I cannot defend myself.
I do not want to die. I have no desire to cease living. I do not want to damage myself nor the people around me who love me. I would never think twice of doing that.
There will be another post to continue this story but for now I have to put this down.
This is incredibly difficult for me. This is the first time I've ever talked about this and strangely enough I'm telling the whole world.