Pharmacopeia, or, The Drugs Don’t Work

This post compliments my toolbox post so well, I couldn’t pass it up.

Originally posted by Belle Jar:

Pharmacopeia, or, The Drugs Don’t Work.


This too shall Pass & other Tools

Trigger warning, mature audience:
If this is an emergency dial 911
If not, welcome to my toolbox.

I have been diagnosed, sometimes appropriately, several times in the last 20 years. I have been counseled, and medicated. At this point, I no longer need a name for “it.” I have muddled through, searched for, screwed up, and worked really hard to find and train myself to use tools that work for me. I have been unmedicated for more than five years now. Sometimes, I still feel crazy, these are the tools I use to get me through. Continue reading

Self-Pity Snap-Shot of a Bipolar Episode

Self-pity Snap-shot
I feel so alone knowing that I have to live this way and you don’t. You, my husband, you, my parents, and you, the world at large. Knowing that you don’t have these feeling makes your compassion that much more unjustified. For that, I feel I will always be in debt. I pray that my children don’t have to live this way. I don’t want to be a burden to the people who love me. You shouldn’t have to spend so much energy stroking my hair and my ego and hope I don’t fall apart on you, hope that “today is a good day”. All you get for it? Attacked and betrayed on the “bad days”. It sucks for me to know that nothing has to happen for me to have a bad day. Nothing out of the ordinary has to happen for me to become an angry, biting monster. Out of control, uncontrollable, until I return to myself and find I have been so hateful and betrayed myself hurting you, who do your best for me over and over and over.
It isn’t fair to you that you’re stuck loving me. I beat at you and tear at you, as unbearable as my pain is for me I force you to bear it, and more. Rancor and bile spew out of me. Accusations and denials, and inerasable words and unspeakable acts. I am humiliated by my behavior; I want to take half my life back, to be able to be a blessing and a light in the lives I touch. I want to forget the past and move forward in a better way.
I go a few weeks, I feel myself learn and expand, in my heart there is such growth. Then, the beautiful falls away. I shed that intangible peace and I am flooded with grief. Why should I grieve? All I have lost is control. Why am I angry that I am angry? Why do I suspect that you, who have stood by me through so much would desert me now? Why do I let that suspicion become accusation that could trigger the very acts I fear most? I am adrift without anchor or sail, dragging all would be saviors into the water with me, putting you in peril.
If it takes nothing to set you off, everyone who loves you is always on eggshells. You are always anticipating your next breakdown and it only comes when you stop expecting it. When you are me, waves of baseless emotions set off torrents of hopeless thoughts. That torrential storm steals away your ability to trust and all your self control. It overwhelms you with sorrow and self pity and a void into which you willingly throw everything and everyone to fill it up. Yet, it yawns inside you, restless like a caged predator. Even when it sleeps, it is scary and bigger than you are and any little sound might wake it up. When that happens and you are me, you are completely unprepared and you are eaten alive again.
You are consumed in turns by violent anger, drowning grief, compulsive insecurity, and all encompassing guilt. You become afraid of you, and wish that you could protect the precious light in your life from yourself.
Then weeks go by, guilt and memory fade and you think you must be healing. You believe you have finally outgrown fits. Maybe you will one day be whole. Life looks shinier and steadier. Then, everything beautiful falls away. Your heart breaks as you feel the void split open to yawn inside of you, again.