From the Bottom of the Bathroom Floor

By


It’s been months since I last blogged. I’ve been so caught up with my university studies and home schooling my kids in this strange new Corona World. In fact, I probably should be working on an essay right now but I just needed to write freely today; to express what is in my heart and on my mind right now.  So come, buckle up, and step into the darkest corners of my mind with me.

Below I have copied and pasted a dated e-journal entry.  I wrote it in November last year during the most crippling low I have experienced since I was pregnant with my now almost 6-year-old daughter.  What is a low you ask? It is a depressive episode.  You see, I suffer from Bipolar Disorder, Type 2 (BPII), differentiated from Type 1 by significantly more lows than highs. 

The rare highs of BPII, referred to as  hypomanic episodes do not reach the full-blown mania and psychosis commonly associated with Bipolar Disorder, Type 1 (BPI) and could instead be more accurately described as an abnormally elevated mood or a persistent irritable state. For this reason, Type 2 is often referred to as the 'less severe' form of Bipolar, despite alarmingly high rates of suicide often attributed to the disease

'In contrast to individuals with BPI, individuals with BPII may experience more chronicity, an illness course that follows a more distinct seasonal pattern, a lower probability of returning to a premorbid level of function between episodes, higher rates of rapid cycling, shorter ‘well’ periods, and greater impairment from depressive symptoms and subthreshold symptoms.” (Novick, Swartz & Frank, 2010)

Researchers estimate that 60% of individuals, with this disorder, will attempt suicide at least once and approximately 19% will succeed at ending their life. These are alarming statistics.

When I am well, suicide is the furthest thing from my mind; I couldn’t begin to fathom transferring my pain onto my loved ones. But when I am sick….well, that is why I forced myself to write the below excerpt. I felt like there was, quite simply, no other way I would be able to capture the rawness and reality of what I was feeling and thinking in that state of mind.  I wasn’t sure at the time whether I would ever be brave enough to share it but regardless, it was worth writing, if for no other reason than so that I could understand myself a little better.

This entry was written shortly after my medication had been adjusted and just before the next review of those new medications.

~

05/11/2019

It always comes back to the painful familiarity of numbingly cold tiles pressed against my cheek. How did I get here again? I never know. I felt it coming in the prior days; knew I was sliding downhill fast. I always know. But I rarely tell. Telling feels in many ways like confirming it will undoubtedly happen. If I say nothing, perhaps this will be the one time I’m wrong and manage to stumble blindly, but determinedly, back up the slippery slope before it’s too late.

As I stood, teetering precariously on the precipice of the cliff overhanging the pits of darkness and despair writhing below me, I closed my eyes and inclined my head backward, back towards my safe place and my sanity. Sadness whispered to me on the winds, rising and assaulting my ears with its toxic and nauseating pull. Tears streamed momentarily…and then I was gone—freefalling again—pushed by words and thoughts, anxieties and lies my crazed mind taunted me relentlessly with: 

'Nobody loves you…' 

'Kill yourself….' 

'This could all be over…' 

'It could be so easy; so peaceful...'  

'Stop fighting it…' 

'Just let go…'

As the chorus of voices droned on, I lost my will to fight. My soul was so very tired. I turned the shower on ice cold and stepped in. Spurts of freezing water stabbed into my bare skin like needles but I needed to feel something…anything. I covered the drain, laid my battle-worn body down on the hard tiles, and closed my eyes. I wanted to drown; I wanted only to die. But why do they save me? Why do they make me keep living when I'm so tired. God, just let me die…let me be free.

~

This is a singular snapshot from the thick and complex album that is my life.  This wasn't just a bad day or feeling sorry for myself. This was my illness lying to me. It is a thief of joy and on this particular day, I was very sick.

My children are the reason I live and breathe, but I’m truly not so sure they would still have a mother if it weren't for my loved ones saving me from myself over and over. It must be so exhausting and painful for them but they are my voice of reason when I lose control; my due North. I am truly blessed to be surrounded by friends and family who not only love me fiercely, but who also understand my illness and recognise the signs that indicate I am not myself and am in need of professional help and support.

If you don’t understand the all-consuming-ness of Bipolar Disorder, I am glad. If you do not know what would make a person unconditionally love someone so seemingly flawed and broken, I am saddened for you. Love is supposed to be unconditional. It should know no limits and keep no record of wrongs. A little compassion and empathy goes a long way. Nobody is perfect and nobody chooses to be born sick. Just as a cancer patient is so much more than the disease consuming their body, those with mental health diagnoses are not their illnesses. I am not Bipolar; I am Carla, and I have Bipolar. There's a big difference.   

 Let's chip away the stigma and shame attached to mental illness.

Love and light,
Wonderland Wanderess 💜




google.com, pub-5896944412523933, DIRECT, f08c47fec0942fa0
References:

 Campos, M. (2018). Probiotics for bipolar disorder mania. Harvard Health Publishing. Retrieved from http://www.https://www.health.harvard.edu/blog/probiotics-for-bipolar-disorder-mania-2018062514125

Novick, D. M., Swartz, H. A., & Frank, E. (2010). Suicide attempts in bipolar I and Bipolar II disorder: a review and meta-analysis of the evidence. Bipolar Disorders 12(1): 1-9. Retrieved from http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4536929/#_ffn_sectitle



Comments

  1. UnknownMay 15, 2020 at 5:51 PM

    A very brave and beautifully written piece -very raw, honest, courageous and inspiring xx

    ReplyDelete

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