Will I Always Be Your Beast of Burden?

When you suffer from mental illness, it's easy to feel that you're a burden to those around you, your friends and family. I certainly suffer from this, to the point of even taking up space makes me feel uncomfortable. I just want to shrink myself away.

(Check ya later)

This feeling is heightened when it comes to the people, or person, closest to you. In my case, this is my husband.

He is level headed where I am literally moody - fiery temper, crushing lows, thrilling highs. He has a sense of responsibility whereas I'd just like to indulge in whatever tickles my fancy. He is definitely the adult in the relationship.

He checks on me when I'm up too late - 2am comes fast - to make sure I'm not slipping into hypomania. That I'm not binging on food, beer, TV. The threat of a mixed state worries him when I sit awake watching episode after episode of Brooklyn 99, afraid to go to sleep for some reason. A reason that's been with me since my teens, one I don't understand. But that's for another blog post.

(Terry's not tired, okay?)

It's hard for even me to tell if I'm getting hypomanic half of the time. I think part of it is denial - I wish I just felt that good all the time. Why can't I? Why does it have to make me so suspicious? We have to be, though, because it usually ends in a crash and burn scenario.

My husband reminds me that it's time to shower, something that seems insurmountable when I'm caught in a grasp of a fierce depression. He asks if I've had anything to eat, and has been kind enough to let me sleep late when I need it.

(I feel you, Tobias)

I've felt like a burden for a long time. It's hard to see what I bring to the table when someone is constantly having to take care of me. Before my husband, it was my parents, bailing me out of many mistakes I've made. It's easy to feel like I haven't matured past the age of 13.

What scares me the most is how much I've come to rely on that support. I feel like I can't make decisions for myself, that I'm always in doubt. My diagnosis makes me second guess my every move, its motivation. I feel like I used to have some sense of swagger and bravado and now I'm meek, muted by insecurity.

I feel powerless a lot of the time, and have no idea how to get back to the person I was. Maybe there's no going back. There's only the path ahead, and I need to muster the courage to forge it, to cut through the barriers, to carve my way.

Easier said than done.

I'd like to lift some of the pressure from those around me, while still being able to ask for help when I really need it. Balance isn't in my nature - my diagnosis says as much. But I need to remember I am more than a label written down in my chart by my psychiatrist. I need to remember that, even though it's really easy to blame it on the bipolar, to give in, that I need to fight it.

I've been diagnosed for just over two years. I'll admit that I've leaned into my diagnosis, as it explains so much about me. I think it's time to try something different. I spent so many years struggling. There's no shame in asking for help, there's no shame in needing the help in the first place. Now, I have the knowledge and support I need. It's time to find myself again.

Well, maybe not my ONLY hope.

I'm Not

I want to tell you how I'm really feeling when you ask, "How are you?" but I don't want to burden you with the truth.

I want to be able to call in sick because I'm having symptoms of my illness, but mental health shouldn't be talked about. And when it is, I should just, "Get over it" and deal with whatever is going on as if I was normal.

I'm not.

You wouldn't shame me for having the flu. You'd accept that I'm not feeling well, tell me to rest, to get better soon.

Instead you think I'm weak, that I can't control my emotions, that everyone struggles and why should I be cut any slack?

You're not alone. I think that, too. That if I just try harder, I can will my disorder away, that I can grit my teeth and power through the depression, the unreasonable anger, the anxiety.

I take an extra pill to smother the burning rage I'm stewing in for no reason. It helps, but it leaves me feeling hollow inside. The apathy is almost as bad.

What am I supposed to feel? What is normal? I don't think I'll ever be able to put my finger on it. I'm held together by a precisely crafted cocktail of pills, and my ability to pretend that I'm fine.

I'm not.

I wish the road was easier, or that I was stronger. It's a fight, and just when I think I'm winning, the world drops out from under me. Stability is fleeting. Everything is a symptom, I can't trust what I'm feeling.

I feel caught up in chaos, unable to grab ahold of anything that might stop the ups and downs. I feel like I'm on a rollercoaster without a lap bar. Any twist or turn could throw me, send me reeling out of control.

But I'll smile and tell you, "I'm doing good." I'll make it easy for you, make you think I have it under control. Make you believe it.  I don't want to pile the weight of my unpredictable moods on you. You hear it from my lips, that I'm okay.

But I'm not.