Just Lucky, I Guess

January 21, 2013

People from work or from my community who hear my story often ask me questions like, "How did you make it through?"

"How did you not fall apart?"  

"You seemed fine even though you were going through so much at home.  How did you not let it affect you?"

My response is usually something like, "I don't know.  Just lucky, I guess."  

But in all honesty, the fact that I was able to maintain my poise at work and continue volunteering with my younger son at our local community theater actually embarrasses me. 

About a year after my older son left, I talked to a psychiatrist (referred to me by my therapist).  Among other topics, this ability to keep going through anything came up because it concerned me.  I worried that I was flawed deeply. But this trait which one may call "resilience" is actually something he used to help diagnose my condition: Bipolar II.

Apparently, we Bipolar IIs are able to "keep going" through lots of emotional stress.  We can drive right through the rain, so to speak.  For me, it felt like if I let myself cry, I may never stop.  Having so much stress at home was enough.  I refused to let it interfere with my life outside of home.  I just wouldn't let it.

But yet, it did.

While my employer would never have suspected anything was wrong, I felt the stress.  The pain. It lay dormant underneath my skin.  I always knew it was there waiting for me. It was a conscious decision to not let it eat me alive.  I felt I had to continue going for my younger son's sake, if nothing else.  What I wanted to do was fold up into a ball and rock on the floor.  To go away to some scenic, peaceful therapy center somewhere.  To check out on some heavy meds.  To acknowledge the pain somehow.  

But I held it together through it all.

So when I finally let myself feel...it all came pouring out.

In fact, one of the first times I really let it all out was when I wrote my first blog entry just a few weeks ago.  I actually relived that horrible experience completely and let myself feel all of it.  I let myself acknowledge the pain.  And it hurt.  A lot.

But I'm healing.

My therapist and my psychiatrist are both very proud of my progress.  The "Sacred House" helps a great deal.  So does the fact that I'm seeking help with therapy and medication.  I try to maintain a regular sleep routine and I exercise often.  I'm finally taking care of myself and letting myself feel again.  I'm also very lucky to be in a loving relationship with a supportive man who doesn't judge me.  He accepts me, flaws and all. So, thankfully, I am healing...

But I often worry that another tragic experience would just tip me right over.  Set me off.  Knock me out for good. 

Then again, no, I don't think it would.  

I am resilient.  

And I'm just lucky, I guess.

My Sacred House

Dec. 28, 2012

There is something I should tell you.

I have Bipolar II Disorder.  

After years of thinking (and hearing from my ex-husband) that I was just plain crazy, I was finally properly diagnosed in 2011...a year after my older son was diagnosed with Bipolar I.  A year after he brought a gun into my home for the purpose of suicide.  A year after he shamed me into keeping his secret.  A year after I missed the opportunity to have him hospitalized and properly treated.  A year after my nightmare began.

Since then, I've done my homework.

I know that parents with bipolar disorder are more likely to have children with bipolar disorder.  I am learning more about my condition and realizing there are things I can do to keep myself well. I can maintain a solid schedule of appointments with my psychiatrist to check my medication and discuss symptoms. I can see my therapist regularly too. And, I can do things for myself: "self-care" they call it. Things like playing the piano, going for a run, reading a book, or getting my nails done. These are luxuries that in the past I may have overlooked, considering them self-indulgent and not as important as my family. But actually, they are critical for me and for my family. Taking care of myself IS taking care of my family. I can't care for them if I'm not healthy myself. It's not at all selfish to practice self-care.

I wish my son would let me share with him what I have learned. The fact that he has chosen the path of Denial causes me great pain. Through therapy, research, and reflection I have found some relief knowing that he has chosen this path. I am trying to accept this as a possible reality. But are the choices he has made actually symptoms of his illness - thus, not really choices at all?

Over time, I have learned a new way to cope with our estranged relationship.

I consider myself a sacred house.

I have a front gate and a manicured lawn.  I have an inviting front hallway and a warm living room.  My sacred house has a quaint kitchen and cozy bedrooms and there is one room only for me.

I can invite people into parts of my sacred house as I see fit.  Those who I trust and feel closest to are invited inside all of my house and can wander the rooms freely--except the one room where I alone may go.  And those I barely know are not invited into my sacred house at all.  Those who have betrayed me or who I fear are not allowed into my sacred house.  I must keep my sacred house safe.

My older son is at the front gate.

This does not mean in any way that my love for him has diminished in the least.  As the days turned to months and then to years, my love for him remains true and full and real.  It only means that for the physical and emotional safety of my younger son and me, he is not invited inside my sacred house.

He cannot hurt me from the front gate.  Or at least, he cannot hurt me too much.