An idle thought snuck in the other day, barely brushing the periphery of my mind. Small, seemingly innocuous, it found a place to rest, and to grow. A little at a time it stretched out, unfolding itself, taking up more and more space. Prodding, poking as though it was testing the strength of my soul. I feel a foreboding.
In the last few days, it has become bolder, stronger, darker. Its arms seemed to spread out, infiltrating more and more of my headspace. I am a ball of pain and confusion; my heart hammers away in my throat.
It’s insistent, growing, no longer a vague thought. It has crawled under my skin, seeped into my veins, and settled deep inside of me.
It’s growing. Standing itself up, taking up more space, demanding I listen, it roars. “You are nothing”, it taunts. There is no getting away from it, it is in me. It has invaded my mind, and I am questioning every experience I’ve ever had, seeing them through new eyes.
I’m angry, resentful, frightened, and anxious. And through it all, it whispers. You’re nothing. You’re as pathetic as they say you are.
The psychiatrist confirmed it today – Bipolar 2. I guess, as much as I thought I was prepared and that this would be the diagnosis, I’m still processing.
They want to medicate me. This is no surprise – I need something better for the blackness — I can’t live like this. They say they have to treat the hypomania too. I don’t’ think it’s that bad. It isn’t why I came here, begging for help. They want to give me an antipsychotic. “Not that you’re psychotic”, they rush to clarify. “But you can’t sustain this level of anxiety and nervous energy much longer”. This is just to ‘level me out’.
But the highs aren’t that bad, are they? I just have more energy, I write more and am happier, bubblier. Why are we medicating that? We filled the script, I am scared to take it; scared of what I could lose.
I’ve always been a person of extremes. There is no in between with me. But now, suddenly, I feel fragile, unsure. I am bereft, unable to find my own identity. If my highs are a chemical imbalance, if my lows are a chemical imbalance, if my creativity is a chemical imbalance, what the hell is left? I said yesterday that I missed ‘me’. Today I don’t even know who the real ‘me’ is.
Who am I? Really, deep down, without all of this? What am I?
I’m nothing. I am a shell, utterly and completely forgettable.
My name is Melissa and I blog over at The Things I’d Tell You. A happily married mother of two, I blog about just about anything that takes my fancy. I wrote this after being diagnosed with Bipolar2.
You are so much more than a shell. So much more. When did you write this? I’ve felt you withdraw over the last week, and wondered what was going on – but perhaps this is why…
I wish you could see your value and worth. I’ve ‘known’ you for several years now and never seen anything other than an amazing, intelligent woman with a massive heart and brilliant mind. Read that again. And again.
Love this post, Melissa.
So beautifully said. Kind of reflects my feelings. I haven’t been diagnosed, but I suspect. I don’t want to medicate the good feelings.
But you are more than your illness.
Dont be defined by this, you are so much more. Wishing you well on this health journey xx