Women's Issues with Bipolar Disorder
by Storm
August 19, 2000 

BiPolar's Darkside 

Bipolar disorder is a disease. It will never go away, we can only hope to control it. But what happens on those days when we "lose our control"?What about the days when the laundry is piles high, the dishes balance delicately upon the counter, waiting to be washed.

A husband is wondering where his breakfast is, two kids are scrambling to make their own breakfast while wearing yesterday's underwear and some God awful clothing combination. And we just don't care.

Really. When we hit our lows, we cease to care about our domestic or wifely or motherly duties. We know we have them, but we're so depressed that we can't seem to motivate ourselves into really "caring" about any of it.

Hugging us doesn't work, lecturing or yelling certainly doesn't bring us out of it. It can bring us down even further because sometimes we do feel the guilt.

We cannot get out of bed, we sleep all during the day and all during the night. We barely have the energy to toddle off to the restroom.

Our appearance goes to hell in a hand basket. Thoughts of suicide weave in and our of our brain like a train that cannot find the right track.
Surely the family would survive without me, they'd get over it and time and would find a replacement for me.

I'd be able to end this purgatory of hell and pain and sorrow. I cannot cry for I've cried every tear in my body. I am numb. I want to crawl into a dark cave where I am totally alone. No demands, no pressure. Just darkness and quiet.

The antidepressants are not doing their job today. They must be on vacation by I am completely pro-depressed.

Thoughts begin to race threw my mind, this should be done, but if I weren't here, someone else could do it. If I weren't here, people wouldn't have to walk on egg shells around me. Wondering if they should speak, touch, reach out. Is she whacked out today or is she normal.

Normal. How I long to be a normal person. To be able to dismiss things and move along. Able to never be so deep into a depressive mode that I call it the black pit from hell. No visitors allowed.

Leave me alone when you see this cycle coming. If I begin to seriously talk about suicide, take me to the emergency room. If I actually try to off myself, DEFINITELY take me to the ER.

Eventually, hopefully, when I start to come out of it, dont just assume things are okie dokie. I need time to surface from the pit. Let me take it one hour at a time, because the wrong thing said or done at the wrong time can send me right back to the black pit from hell. No visitors.



 

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