The need to fill pages with an unusual
amount of words that make some sort of sense, on some sort of real
subject, has arisen lately with a vicious hold on my writing
ability. The need to feel as if I am more than just a chair filler in
my own home has me by the throat, and I don't know how to convince
this chemical imbalance that I am stronger than any malformation that
may plague me. I know that I have a role in this family and I have a
role in this world, as miniscule as it may be. I know this, however,
this physical body I was cursed with does not share the knowledge and
is out to find a way of convincing me other wise.
For many years I felt so numb, that I
spent my days wishing for pain, just so that I could have something
that made an impression on my neurological disposition; simply
because I did not believe that happiness was a real to life emotion,
or else I would have longed to feel such a wondrous joy instead. Now
on the days that I awake feeling so unworthy that I would rather pull
the covers up over my head and try again the next day, it is a lot
more bewildering; because I have been enlightened with a world full
of spectacularly marvelous fervor. The sting of knowing that days
are fleeting and there are many that I do not fully embrace due to
this disease, eats at me even on the days that I throw my whole being
into enjoying my entire existence.
There are days when feeling normal
would be a million steps down, there are other days that I am
desperately clawing my way up to merely feeling abnormal. One day's
emotional status has no precursor to what the next day will hold. To
be truthful it is more like one minute or second to the next.
This makes having a stable relationship
with anyone indubitably difficult. It doesn't matter if it is family,
personal, business or even just an acquaintance type situation, this
is true. Being on the receiving end of a relationship with someone
that has manic depression is similar to feeling like a dog that gets
kicked and called back to be comforted over and over again, all the
while not knowing why it is happening. Manic depression is not a
communicable disease, however it's affects can spread like a bad case
of small pox, and can become a learned behavior, especially by our
children.
After lashing out against those that
love you the most multiple times, “I'm sorry”, just doesn't cover
it. Anyone that is dealing with this ailment owes it to their
families and to themselves to be honest about their condition and how
it makes them feel. If it makes you feel like a crazy cat lady that
just lost all of their cats, say that, don't say “I'm just having a
bad day.” Everyone has bad days, but not everyone has manic
depression. Every one also deals with clinical depression from time
to time and so merely stating that you are depressed won't cover it
either. Assuming people know how you are feeling in the core of your
being with vague and misleading descriptions of the feeling, gives
you false hope that they will know how to help. Whatever you do, do
not, do not, do not hide behind it and use it as a crutch. You can
only try to get better if you want to, even if your mind will only
let you want to part of the time, that can be the difference between
being alone for real and thinking you are alone.
The problem is not the individual, it
is in the chemical make up that controls our involuntary emotional
status. The way the person deals with the ups and downs and how open
they are about it is the determining factor in how many “good days”
they will have.
The first step to living with manic
depression - Embrace the times when you truly feel happy. If you
never do feel real emotional joy or if you hit a low point, figure
out how to be in total dismay mentally and still appreciate, or at
least pick out the things that you know should be making you feel
happy...save them like little mental notes if you have to and truly
appreciate them later when you are able. The second step, is doing it
all again tomorrow.
