Yesterday I was mostly okay. Kind of.

I tend to overthink things, and not just big things - everything.  I overthink all the things. Sometimes this is good. Mostly, it's bad.

Yesterday I was overthinking things. About my mood swings. You know what? It would probably be helpful to tell you about my day to lend context to what I was overthinking. Maybe.

But that's what I'm going to do, so you'll just have to deal with it.

I worked yesterday, in trans (meaning in the transition nursery, where I attend deliveries and care for the newborns). I woke up feeling mostly okay. Not great, but okay. My jaw locked first thing in the morning - like at 7am (I have lock jaw from an old karate injury from high school and it's been flaring up bad lately I think from ECT - bite block and tense, tight muscles during seizures probably not good for my jaw). Luckily I was able to relax the muscles and get my jaw to open before my first delivery (at 9:30). Not that I needed to to do a delivery, but it's much comfortable when you're able to actually open your mouth to talk.

So mom smokes pot (legal in Colorado for adults over 21 - not legal for an infant to be exposed. DHS gets involved, baby gets drug tested through the umbilical cord and urine). Pot crosses into breast milk and we encourage these moms to either quit smoking pot, or to not breastfeed. But we can't stop them from breastfeeding. We give them the education and they make their own choice. I was informing mom of this when grandma starts going off on me. Yelling, rude, obnoxious. I managed to stay professional. Now, she wasn't going off because her daughter smoked pot - she was going off because how dare I imply that smoking pot could be bad and maybe I should smoke a bowl because I'm way too fucking uptight.

I did my teaching and left. Vented in the nurses station. But I noticed something: an exaggerated emotional response brewing. I had gotten angry and frustrated, I vented (and cussed), and that should have been the end. But oh no, not for my brain. No. I felt completely overwhelmed, anxious, angry, and as if I was going to completely lose my shit and break down sobbing uncontrollably. I felt despair taking over. I wanted to curl in a ball and hide away from everything. This is not okay. I argued with my mind, with my thoughts, reoriented and centered myself, used all my little CBT and DBT tricks that I know, did everything in my power to be okay. And after about an hour of wrestling with my thoughts and my feelings I was approaching mostly okay again.

I ate my breakfast with B (charge nurse), talked, tried to joke. And it was okay. I was okay again.

Until I wasn't.

My next episode came out of nowhere for no reason. I was chatting with the L&D nurses (trying to be normal over here . . .) and then WHAM! Despair, hopelessness, on the verge of breaking down sobbing. I have no idea why. I got up and went to the locker room to be alone. I fought my thoughts, countered them, constantly, over and over. No, you don't want to die. You aren't going to cut - no, not even a little. You're not stupid or fat - you've lost weight! NO! You're not taking all of your pills tonight - you want to LIVE. Everyone isn't out to get you. They care about you. Stop this ridiculous thinking. You can get past this. You have before, you will again. Over and over and over. Reorient myself (you're at work in the locker room. You're sitting on the bench. Take some deep breaths. That's it. In . . . out. You're wearing your new shoes and fun new socks - taco dinosaurs for fucks sake! You want to live and your going to live. Just breathe . . .).

After about 30 minutes I felt okay enough to leave the locker room. I didn't feel mostly okay yet - but I felt like I didn't have to hide. I chatted with our CNAs, trying to interact, not withdraw, appear/be normal, joke, everything's fine here people. And it was again, for a little bit.

Until it wasn't.

A little before lunch (like 1pm or so) I was blindsided by overwhelming despair. I felt exhausted, like I couldn't possibly keep going. It was bad. I needed 2 things - a hug and a nap. But I'm at work. I can't nap. I can get a hug though. From B (we're friends). I start walking over to post partum to awkwardly ask for a hug but I never made it. No, I had to pop into an empty patient room to sob uncontrollably for 10 or more minutes. And then I stayed hiding in there for awhile - I'm not even sure how long. I calmed myself, reoriented, centered, wrestled with my thoughts and emotions. When I left that room I wasn't mostly okay. I'm not sure I was even slightly okay. But I was functional and I could put on my mask.

And this is how the rest of my day went. Over and over I had to struggle against my mind, bring myself back to reality, fight against my thoughts and emotions. And this got me thinking - what if these types of mood swings aren't related to bipolar disorder? What if something else is going on?

What popped into my head was borderline personality disorder - which is characterized by intense mood swing lasting hours to days. So I started reading about it, comparing what I read to my life, overanalyzing/overthinking. I certainly match some of the diagnostic criteria. But other stuff? Not so much. But still I kept thinking about it and thinking about it. I had J read the diagnostic criteria when I got home to see what he thought. He said no. And what would it matter anyway? The only real treatment is therapy, which I've already been doing for 4 years.

But why then? Why were my moods so labile? Why did I get so bad so fast? And why was I (mostly) able to get a little better?

Well, in a word I think, I'm bipolar. And regardless of what the DSM would have you believe, people with bipolar disorder can and do have mood swings that occur this rapidly. It can happen the other way too, with mania, and it has with me.

As to why I was able to mostly be okay? I'm trying insanely fucking hard to counter my errors of thinking. I'm trying insanely fucking hard to be okay. I'm actively using everything I've learned in 4 years of therapy - both CBT and DBT. I'm doing everything I fucking can to battle this illness and take back my life.

You know what? I'm not entirely sure I made any sort of point with this post. And I don't really care.

Well, it's Friday

I want to start by saying that I fucking HATE bipolar disorder. I really, really, fucking hate it. Like, a LOT.

I worked on Wednesday and it was a horrible day. It was busy, which was probably good, because it kept me distracted. My mood was awful. I was depressed, tired, full of despair, angry, and a host of other negative feelings. I cut (I have my scalpel in my locker). When I got home I lost it. And I lost it good. It was the ugly cry X10 and I wanted to die. Or, at the very least, I wanted to cut my arm to shreds. Hubs and kiddo had to work overtime pulling me from the brink. It was so bad.

Then yesterday, Thursday, I had a mandatory class for work. Knowing how my mood has been I was dreading it. But I ended up hypomanic. I was inappropriate and obnoxious. I was entertaining. I had fun. It was wonderful! It was glorious! Thank GOD!

After class I had therapy and we started trauma work. It went well. M gave me some ideas on how to manage my overreactive emotions. Yesterday was a good day. Hooray!! A good day!

And then there's today. A day that's really not a good day. Again I want to curl in a ball and not exist. I'm trying. I'm trying so hard to be okay. To interact with people. But I'm so fucking angry today. At everything. And I feel exhausted and overwhelmed. And depressed. And like everything is pointless and stupid. I'm trying to counter, trying to stay positive, trying to remain calm and destress . . .

I really hate this. Why can't I just be normal? Why can't I just be okay? Why do I have to fight depression so much? I don't want to feel everything so much.

I'm meeting a friend for coffee which means interaction which will exhaust me more. And I work tomorrow which will mean interaction which may exhaust me more.

Or maybe I'll be hypomanic again, who knows?

That's the thing though - I never know. And that's exhausting.

I have more I want to write I just don't have it in me right now.

I'm Not Sure What to Think

I'm really not.

I'm sitting down to write because I've felt like I've needed to all day (I've been out at the therapeutic riding center all day working with both the kids and horses).But now that I'm sitting to write, I find I'm at a loss of words.

I've been struggling again, I think that's a given. I had ECT yesterday and I thought "oh good. I can talk to Dr. M and figure out something to do about these recurring depressive symptoms." I told the nurses as they did my intake and started my IV and they urged me to talk to Dr. M.

So I did.

And he really didn't tell me what I wanted to hear.

One, it can take up to 6 months to get the full benefits of ECT. Two, I need to go easy on myself, be gentle, and give myself time - it took awhile for me to get this sick, it's going to take awhile for me to get better. Three, I need to learn how to better manage/regulate my moods - it appears I'm getting triggered, having an exaggerated, bipolar mood reaction, and that I'm mismanaging that reaction (hence the episodes of despair or sobbing or cutting or intense anger).

I told him I was going back to a DBT group and he got a huge smile on his face. "Good. That will be good for you." The lead nurse, J, agreed that DBT would be wonderful for me.

So the plan stays: my current meds, ECT every other week, and therapy - both my regular and the DBT group.

Here's what's frustrating though: I'd had a couple of fairly good days and I had ECT and group yesterday. And today, today I'm at the riding center all day. Mucked stalls in the morning, work with the kids in the afternoon, spend time with my fave horse and barn buddy there, Thor (who, strangely, happens to be Dr. M's horse). All day I had to keep fighting off despair. It kept washing over me. Random times, no rhyme or reason. I'd be petting Thor and suddenly all I could think about was how nothing really mattered, everything was pointless, and that I'd eventually end up killing myself because nothing gets better. Ever.

I'd throw everything I could into fighting those thoughts and feelings. I do what I'm supposed to do: remain present, acknowledge the feelings, allow them to pass, replace negative thoughts with positive ones. Everything that I practice, that I've been taught to do . . . I do it. Then I finally resort to distraction. I go find something to do or someone to talk to or I immerse myself in grooming. Whatever I can to stay on top.

Today I had that despair wash over me at least 10 times. Even though I would count this a "pretty good" day, I still had to fight so much to stay on top.

Is this how it's always going to be? Always fighting, always struggling, every day? This is what I worry about. Because I don't want to do this every day. I don't want to fight my own mind every day. I'm worried that at some point I'll be too tired. Because what's the point? Why struggle?

I shouldn't think like that. That's not productive, right? I'm just so frustrated.

Well, I have therapy on Thursday, so we'll see what M has to say about all this.

Stupid

I had a great therapy session yesterday, I really did. Everything that was in my last blog post? We talked about that.

He pointed out that I still haven't completely accepted my diagnosis. I mean, I've accepted it, I truly believe I have bipolar disorder, but I haven't fully accepted everything that that entails. For example, even when I'm stable - reeeeeally stable - I can still have wide, wild mood swings for no reason at all. That's just part of bipolar disorder. That truly, for the rest of my life, I have to be hyper vigilant of my moods. I'll have to always monitor my moods, just like a diabetic monitors their blood sugar. There's no real way around it.

I hate that. Like, I really hate that. I wanted to have ECT and just be . . . okay. Normal. But that's just not the case. And it's super fucking frustrating. I don't want to deal with it anymore. I don't want to deal with bipolar disorder anymore.

Procrastinating . . .

That's what I'm doing right now. Procrastinating. Writing this post. I've been looking up random shit on the internet instead of writing. For a couple reasons, really. One, I'm depressed, and sometimes I want retail therapy when I'm depressed (hence looking up shit to buy on the internet), and two, I'm depressed and emotionally drained and writing is sometimes difficult when I'm like this.

Wait.

Let's go further back.

To Sunday. Sunday was a bad day for my depression. Very bad. The highlight of the day was seeing Big Hero 6 - a funny movie that was pretty epic.

Monday. Monday wasn't great. Had some suicidal ideation (it would be so easy to take all of my seroquel and just go to sleep . . . just sleep and not wake up . . .). There was that, and that's bad enough. But around 3 my tummy wasn't terribly happy with me. Around 5 it was kinda angry. And then after dinner my ENTIRE INSIDES waged war on me.

That's right. Food poisoning.

I was stationed on the toilet with the trash can in front of me for almost 2 hours. The stomach cramps left me moaning in pain, hyperventilating and both cursing God while begging him for mercy (you son of a BITCH PLEASE make this stop . . .). I stripped down to nothing because I was sweating so much from my misery. Hubby tried to help, which involved getting me some water and watching helplessly as my gut tried to kill me.

What made my shenanigans worse was that I couldn't take my meds. Nope. Even water was making my intestines angry again.

So I couldn't sleep. See, my body is now wholly dependent on seroquel for sleep. Stupid, right? And my stomach was churning and gurgling and angry and nauseous . . .

But by 12:30am I couldn't take it anymore. I got up, had a slice of bread, and took one seroquel (I usually take 2). I figured, hopefully one won't upset my stomach as much as two, and it should be enough to go to sleep.

Nope.

Too little too late I guess. Or my tummy issues were enough that I wouldn't sleep no matter what. I finally fell asleep around 3:30 and promptly woke up at 5. Yay! So much sleep!

I had therapy at 8:30 yesterday morning. I'm depressed, my stomach is still all wonky, I haven't had coffee thanks to stomach wonkiness, I'm tired, and now I have therapy. It was a long session. And exhausting (it would have been exhausting even if I had gotten sleep).

We're trying to figure out the depression thing and M has a way of challenging me and my thinking. Which is good. That's what he's supposed to do. So I'm telling him how I have an appointment with a new psychiatrist on the 27th, that I'm no longer going to see Mary. "And so you'll make sure to tell this new psychiatrist that if he says something you don't like, he'll be fired too," M quipped. I glared at him. "No. That's not what I'm doing", I growled. "Chika has always been very business and short and cold. Mary, the first time I saw her, said that I didn't have to be depressed all the time. That we should be able to manage the depression so that I could actually feel good. And NOW she tells me that meds won't help and that I need to figure out how to deal with feeling suicidal every day. That is NOT OKAY in my book!" I almost spit at him. "Even if that's what you believe, you don't tell your depressed, suicidal patient that."

I lean back against the couch. I didn't realize I had crouched forward, wringing my hands. "I've been seeing them since June. I've given them a fair shot. They took 2 months to get my med prescriptions straight and their secretaries are horrible. And good luck getting seen if you have an emergency - they already double book appointments." M nods. "I just want to make sure you have realistic expectations," he says.

Yeah, well, I probably don't.

"I don't know what to do med wise," I say. "See, I've been doing 'research'", I make air quotes, "on what was going on this past summer when I was the most stable. I was stable when on geodon and brintellix. But we had to stop the brintellix because of the anxiety and then switched from geodon to seroquel to try and help the depression. Well, there's no difference in my mood between being on 50mg of seroquel vs 600mg - except for more pronounced side effects. So what's the point of that? There's no point!" I stop a moment, rubbing my temples. Everything is so muddled. "My thinking is slow. I'm sorry." I wait a minute. My thinking is slow, but my thoughts are racing. So many things I want to say but they're not coming out. "Okay, so Mary had mentioned that I need to do trauma work, right? And so did the doc in Boston. Okay. Trauma work. We've been doing trauma work almost every week since the middle of June. We've done that. We went over my past relationship and rape almost 2 years ago and I'm comfortable with that. We've been going over the ACOA stuff for a while now. I'm going to Al-Anon. I'm doing stuff in workbooks on my own. And honestly? If you were to say, right now, what do yo need to say about your mom, I would have no idea what to say. I have no idea what more to talk about. We went to her house Christmas Eve morning and it was good. I've been texting her here and there and it's been good. I'm not feeling triggered by that like I used to be. I've invited her and her boyfriend over for dinner. She's respecting my boundaries and I feel good about it. Is there more stuff to work through? Yeah, there probably is. But I don't know what it is until it punches me in the face, I guess. Point is, I don't know what more to say, I'm comfortable with her, I'm not getting triggered like I was . . . so what then? What do we do when this happens? She says trauma work but I don't know what more to do with trauma work." Big sigh. I don't know how much of that makes sense.

"That was really nice," M remarks. "That shows how much progress you really have made. You've kind of come full circle and you're recognizing it. You have done a lot of work. You've made a ton of progress. You really are exceptional."

I blush. "I wouldn't say that . . ." Truthfully? I have done the work. I've been in therapy for 3 years. Weekly sessions almost the entire time. And I have learned a lot. I recognize me errors of thinking and then stop and replace them with positive things. I'm doing much better at mindfulness - being present (I'm not great, not perfect most of the time, but I try all the time). I'm truly taking things one day at a time. I'm recognizing triggers and either avoiding or minimizing them. I'm trying not to isolate. I do positive readings, track my moods via chart and mood diary, take my meds, go to therapy, keep a regular sleep routine, am cleaning up my diet, trying to get back into exercise . . . I'm not exceptional, no, but I'm doing the fucking work, that's for sure.

"No, Cami, you are. And with all of this, maybe this depression is a bipolar chemical thing."

I nod. I'm hoping it's a bipolar chemical thing. It has to be a bipolar chemical thing. Why? Because look at all the shit I've done. All the shit I'm constantly doing. If this isn't chemical? Then what the fuck else am I supposed to DO??? Seriously. There's not much more I can do. I'm trying a DBT group. I met with the therapist who runs the group yesterday and my first session is next Monday. It meets every other Monday. So there's that. I guess I can always try neurofeedback (but there aren't any good studies on it, it's expensive, and insurance doesn't cover it). Then there's good 'ol ECT. Which is not even choice for me.

Truth is, I'm doing everything I can. So if this new psychiatrist tells me that changing my meds, in what ever way, is not going to help . . . I have no idea what to do. Because I'm doing everything I can already.

M wanted me to describe an acceptable level of functioning for me. Here it is: I would like to be able to enjoy my husband and son. I would like to enjoy their company and doing things with them. I would like do enjoy doing things. I would like to not have suicidal ideation every day. I would like to not hate my job.  I think that's pretty reasonable. I think that's pretty realistic. M thinks so too.

And I know that that's not a destination. I know it's a journey, something M always points out. I know that I'll always have to manage my moods and triggers and meds. I get that, I really do. I hate it, but I get it. It's a lifelong journey. I just don't think I should have to spend so much of it so depressed that I want to die. Is that so much to ask?



I know I've had a lot of posts about this lately. It's been bugging me. Trying to figure out what is going on and how to best handle it. I don't know what is bipolar or PTSD or situational or environmental . . . I don't know. I just want to feel better.

Well fuck . . .

So here's the scoop. My depression is kicking my ass. For reals. This past weekend was particularly bad - lots of crying, wanting to die, suicidal ideation. It was not pretty. Yesterday I spent the whole day alternating between reading and sleeping. Two ways to escape how crappy I was feeling. Today has been better - thank God.

All this got me thinking. About a lot of things. Where to start . . .

I'm not taking my Brintellix anymore (antidepressant). I've been on it for like 14 weeks now? Something like that. And the past 5 weeks I've been in a depression. I've been depressed despite my fancy antidepressant. So I stopped it. Might as well save myself $60 a month if I'm going to be depressed on it. I stopped it cold turkey and have noticed no ill effects.

But I still have this damn lingering depression. I see my pdoc tomorrow and I'm faced with a decision: do I start a different antidepressant? Or not? It's this decision that's had me thinking.

The past 3 years have been a struggle for me. No one would argue that, and if you read this blog you know this. The past 3 years I have fought against my diagnosis, never really accepting it. I've tried many different medications trying to "control" this illness and my moods, certain that once I had the right combo I'd be happy and never have to face my violent mood swings anymore.

Well that's not how bipolar disorder works. That's not how the medications work.

The medications are designed to manage the major mood swings. True mania, and, to a lesser extent, major depression (medications sadly don't do that well with bipolar depression). My combo of lithium, Lamictal, and Seroquel are doing what they're supposed to be doing - managing the huge swings. My hypomania has been virtually nonexistent since my hospitalization for it last November. The bipolar expert agreed that this was an excellent combo.

But then depression rears its ugly head. And these meds let it happen. So I try Brintellix. It starts to work, amazingly, it starts to work. But it caused crippling anxiety and I had to stop it. After a time, the depression came back. I had since switched from geodon to Seroquel so we went ahead and tried the Brintellix again. Guess what? I didn't have the same results that I did the first time. I didn't really get the anxiety, but I also didn't really get any benefit.

And so I stopped it. Four days ago.

My depression persists. So, do I ask my pdoc tomorrow about trying a different antidepressant? Part of me says YES! Try something! Maybe this will be the med that gets rid of your depression!!

Or maybe, like every antidepressant I've tried (6 of them), it won't make any real difference. Maybe I'm still in denial of my illness and I'm still convinced that it's more meds I need (even when I state, often, how I don't want to be on more meds). Maybe I'm still holding out hope that I'll reach that place of always being happy and never having to worry about my illness if I just have the right meds . . .

Like I stated in my last post, this is not how bipolar disorder works. I can be on all the meds and still cycle. That is the nature of the beast. This recent depression while on Brintellix proves it.

Part of me doesn't want to accept this.

I want it to be easy. Change a med, you're all good.

That's not how this shit works. Accept that.

I have to learn to accept that some days I might wake up suicidal for no apparent reason. Or that I may wake up feeling okay and stable and even. Or that maybe the hypomania will decide to come back. And that even though my meds manage most of the big swings, they don't manage all of them.

This illness is managed, not controlled.

I've been trying to remind myself of this - often. I'm trying to be mindful and stay in the present - not worrying over yesterday or how I may feel tomorrow. I mean come on - Sunday I was suicidal, yesterday apathetic, and today I'm okay. If that doesn't show you how quickly my moods can cycle, while on meds . . . (fun fact: my moods can cycle that quickly in hours).

So then what have I decided about seeing my pdoc? I'm not going to go on another antidepressant. I'm going to try managing without one. I don't have a good track record with them anyway. I'm going to do what I can to manage my illness on a day to day basis. Doing everything I've learned in therapy, exercising, eating well, and taking my other meds as prescribed (even though now and then I want to stop them all).

Bottom line, I have to accept my illness and work with it to truly manage it and thrive. I can't keep doing what I've been doing and expect different outcomes. I need to keep my head out of my ass. Besides, how can I help others with mental illness if I can't help myself?

Spoiler alert: I'm planning on switching to psychiatric nursing and going back to school to get my NP in psychiatry. More on that later.

It's been a bit . . .

So it's been almost 2 weeks since my last post. I haven't much felt like writing.

But I do today.

I've been on the Brintellix for around 3 weeks now. My anxiety had started to get bad 2 weeks ago and I was worried that it would get as bad as it was the last time I was on it. I've noticed, however, that over the last week the anxiety has lessened. It's there every once in awhile, but it's manageable and not terribly bothersome.

And that's good news, right?

Sad thing? The Brintellix isn't really helping my mood. Not like it did the last time I was on it. I've had one good day (last Sunday) - a day where I felt "normal", happy, and content with life. I was at work, it was busy, and I had fun. But every other day? Just like before going back on Brintellix.

What do those days look like?

An overall feeling of being "down". I'm withdrawn. I don't want to participate in life. I'd rather nap the day away so I don't have to feel what I'm feeling. And what I'm feeling is all muted - except for my anger. I'm quick to anger. Everything seems to irritate or annoy me. I want to be by myself - I don't want to interact with anyone - family included.

I'm doing what I can to counter these feelings - don't think I'm giving up, or giving in. I'm not. I'm forcing myself to be more positive and upbeat (I don't know how well that's working - I should ask friends and family about that). I'm not doing the negative things I used to do (catastrophizing, all or nothing thinking, shit like that). I'm trying my best to be mindful - to stay in the moment. I'm forcing myself to interact.

Here's the thing - I'm stable. I'm the most stable I've been in 3 years. I'm not having big swings. I'm not hypomanic, I'm not horribly depressed. Nope. Stable. And that's good. The last thing I need is to have a major swing and be hospitalized again. But this low level depression? I think that's my baseline. I think that I'm stuck here and that's just how it's going to be. I'll have a good day here and there and all the others I'm going to have to fight for. I really don't want to accept this, but I don't think I have any other choice.

But wait - there's more!

I've been trying hard to be more "present" at home, around hubby and son. I had been getting bad about ignoring them, taking them for granted, lashing out at them. And I've been trying to be better about it. I don't know how well I'm doing in that regard. Sadly, I've felt myself starting to slip again. Feeling myself starting to withdraw more. Wanting to be alone and to be left alone. I'm trying to ignore/counter this as it's not good for anyone. I feel my anger sneaking back in. Ugh.

And also? Seroquel. FUCK Seroquel. I've had issues with drowsiness/grogginess/somnolence since I started it. I've had issues with my appetite since starting it (I've gained 17 pounds in around 13 weeks). And those two issues are getting progressively worse. It takes me around an hour to wake up in the morning and by midday I'm groggy and a little zombie like. The other thing, which has cropped up recently, is doing things in the middle of the night and not remembering them. The other night I kinda "woke up" standing in the closet with the light on - I have absolutely no recollection of getting up and walking into the closet. I don't remember waking up to go to the bathroom. If I tell hubby something after I've gone to sleep, I don't remember it. Now, maybe that part is only mildly annoying, but I would prefer for it not to get worse.

I see my psychiatrist in 2 weeks and I'm going to request that I go off of Seroquel. I'll start back up on the Geodon, whatever, I don't care. I didn't like the side effects of Geodon but they are preferable to the side effects of Seroquel. I have samples of 150mg Seroquel (I'm currently taking 300mg), so in a few days I'm going to drop my dose down - start to wean myself off. It's not like I felt a difference from when I was on 50mg vs 300mg.

So yeah. That's it. I'm frustrated. But what else is new, right?

Acceptance

I couldn't sleep last night. My mind was racing, filled with anything and everything. It kept coming back to work or what I was going to tell Dr. C next week. Round and round it went so that even when I did sleep, my mind was racing in my dreams.

It was exhausting.

An one point, around 1am, I had almost a mini epiphany. I even got out of bed to jot it down in my journal so I wouldn't forget the thought.

And here it is:

I have yet to accept that I have bipolar disorder. I know I have it, don't get me wrong, but I haven't truly accepted that fact yet. All I'm doing is trying to control an uncontrollable illness. To make neat and orderly what must stay in chaos. To make black and white what is truly every shade of grey known to man.

I haven't accepted this.

Here's the thing - in order to live with bipolar disorder one must practice flexibility and forgiveness. Forgiveness of one's self. I suck at this. I'm flexible with most everything except bipolar disorder. In my mind, I have to do everything perfectly - including controlling the symptoms. I don't forgive myself when things aren't "perfect". If I have a bad day, I've failed. If I've had a string of bad days and I have a good one - I've failed. How does that even make sense??

My view is this: I'm either stable or sick, good or bad, up or down. There is no in-between. So when my mood fluctuates, when it changes or cycles (which moods do), it doesn't fit into my narrow view of what things "should" be. If I'm sick, I should just be sick and not have stable days in-between. If I'm stable, I should just be stable and not have bad days in-between.

This is a highly inaccurate view of bipolar disorder (and of my whole damn world).

Because you know what? Moods vary. Moods change. They fluctuate day to day. I'm going to have a string of really bad days followed by some good ones - and that's okay. I'm going to be stable for awhile and then go manic for a day or two - and that's okay. It's going to happen - that's the nature of bipolar disorder.  I'll never stop it from happening - my mood episodes will come whether I want them to or not, and I can't change, predict, or control that.

So I need to accept that. I need to accept that I have bipolar disorder and that I don't have to be perfect. That this will never be perfect. That my moods may change drastically in the course of a day and I might as well just enjoy the ride.

The sooner I accept this, the sooner I can be flexible and forgive myself, the sooner I can heal and move on.

And I don't have to be perfect at this, either.