Just One Day.

I wish everyone could spend a day in the mind of someone manic and cycling. My world and the world of so many others would be so different if they knew what a daily struggle I feel everyday. What a reward it is to lay your head down at night unharmed and think . . .

I’m a survivor, I’ve been surviving and kicking ass for a lot of years now. There have been times, many times between that I’ve slipped and my mental illness came out on top for a bit, but I get right back on and I kick ass a little more.

From the age of 4 to 8 I survived sexual molestation. My entire life I survived verbal and physical abuse one or the other sometimes both; from 10 on I’ve fought type 1 diabetes, and from 13 on I’ve fought and survived Bi-polar disorder, borderline personality disorder, and ODD. Excuse me while I pat myself on the back; I’m a survivor, I’m a fighter, and I’m pretty fucking FABULOUS and AWESOME!

I wake up most days without the manic thoughts. I’m pretty well under control with my illness these days with a wide combination of prescription drugs including the birth control shot to help control PMDD. Let me leap of the path here just a second and say PMDD is a whole other raging bitch in and of itself.

My triggers aren’t as frequent, but when I trigger damn do I do it well. 6,9, even 12 months of progress goes flooding down the drains. The thoughts start. The thoughts that are so hard for others to understand. A person without mental illness can’t seem to understand and grasp the fact that you’re fine one moment and then in the next you’re triggered and on a suicide mission, or at least thinking (none stop) about it. I’ve tried to explain it, I’ve broken my thoughts down for my sister, my father, my husband. They all seem to think it’s something I can turn on and just turn off.

I’ve explained how on a normal day I know they love me. I know it as much as I know I sit here typing this out. But on a manic day the entire world hates me, they hate me most because they deal with me, they would be better without me, I’m a burden, the world would be a better place without me, I’m broken and I cannot be fixed and even though my family might hurt a little while in the long run things would be better.

They can’t hear the battle, the war that rages on inside my head. The thoughts that are my own but aren’t of my own. Unless you have a mental illness you probably won’t understand the above statement.

I DO NOT HEAR VOICES. Not that there is shame in it if you do. Many people confuse the above statement as hearing voices though and I just want to say that isn’t so.

When you are in a bi-polar manic raging state your thoughts are so crazy and jumbled, and make so little sense, and thoughts that never cross your mind on a normal day are suddenly there and are SCREAMING as loud as possible inside your mind the aforementioned things from above. I’ve come to the point in my life, and my illness that I know they are within me, BUT they are NOT of me. These thoughts that come to me in this state are in no way mine; they are of my illness and I’m finally able to distinguish this.

My family, my friends don’t understand this illness; hell I don’t understand this illness most days, but sometimes I wish they could just spend one day in my mind cycling. Just one day feeling broken, just one day falling to pieces, just one day feeling completely and utterly worthless, just one day feeling hated, just one day feeling better off dead.

Just one day.