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Vacation from Me
Sometimes, and I think this happens to all of us at some point, I want to just escape from myself. I want to hide from me...from this illness...from everything it has done to make my life harder.
I look back on the relationships that I've destroyed, the debt I've incurred, the pain I've caused the people around me...the people I love.
I'm 22 years old. Twenty-two. I used to get sick from taking Tylenol because my body was so unaccustomed to drugs of any form...I never took them. Now I'm stuck on heavy drugs for the rest of my life. Sometimes that's hard to deal with. I have to get blood work done frequently...I have to pay attention to things like blood cell count and Bilirubin levels. I have to carefully watch my liver. That's a lot of responsibility that no one should have to take on.
Sometimes I look forward to my dreams...the dreams I felt would be attainable no matter what. But I look at them now, in the shadows of "mental illness," and let's face it...there is a stigma attached to that term that really sucks. I think about my hopes of the perfect little suburban family with the great husband and dog and kid...and I wonder if that is even possible anymore. Who would want to marry me like this? And would I even allow anyone to go through that? Sure...the high points MUST be great...but can that really compensate for the inevitable lows? And the kid...how could I bring someone into the world knowing that there is a chance he would suffer from the same thing as me? Or even on a more selfish level, how could I risk going off of my meds for the nine months of pregnancy?
So I sometimes pretend that there is nothing wrong with me. I take my medicine in the morning and at night, but I pretend it's vitamins. I mean...if you lie to yourself enough you start to believe it, right? And of course this is a silly, not to mention cowardly approach to things. Plus it doesn't last too long...because we CAN'T hide from who we are.
It took me months to be able to accept that I suffer from bipolar disorder. I felt that I was lucky. That doesn't seem like a long time at all; I know people who were diagnosed years ago who still haven't come to terms with it. It's possible to even say that I've embraced it. Can I really say that I suffer from this? It's such a unique part of us. We are able to experience things on levels that people without this can never begin to comprehend. Can I honestly say I would be willing to give that up? Even the depression...as much as I hate it...as much as I hate myself at those moments...as much as I want to be dead...I have to love the fact that I can feel something so intensely that I would kill myself over.
But then I go back to the times where I want to hide. Where I want to go back to being the happy-go-lucky Jen who doesn't have chemical imbalances...where I want to be able to experience the "typical life" of the average 22 year old.
The fact that I can't do that makes me sad. And lonely. I feel so lonely right now.
Will I stop taking my pills? No. I can't let myself forget how bad it was the last time I stopped. Sometimes I have read that entry in my journal of the day I almost died...it seems so distant...so unreal...but I know it was true...and I can't let myself ever go back to that.
It would be nice to take a vacation from me, though.
Current Mood: lonely
Current Music: Ben Folds Five: Brick
My day was okay today, just gettin done with classes early, dropped Sociology because I was sick of the Juniors and Seniors in the back with their educated opinions and shit. My friend put it best: "You take the class to learn more about it, then they ask you to debate about the shit you don't know." Those bastards. I'm down to 13 credits, which I don't feel too bad about because I'm in ROTC and I think most of the students take about that much. I'm gonna get another tattoo soon, as soon as I get my paycheck it is ON.
Vacation from Me
Sometimes, and I think this happens to all of us at some point, I want to just escape from myself. I want to hide from me...from this illness...from everything it has done to make my life harder.
I look back on the relationships that I've destroyed, the debt I've incurred, the pain I've caused the people around me...the people I love.
I'm 22 years old. Twenty-two. I used to get sick from taking Tylenol because my body was so unaccustomed to drugs of any form...I never took them. Now I'm stuck on heavy drugs for the rest of my life. Sometimes that's hard to deal with. I have to get blood work done frequently...I have to pay attention to things like blood cell count and Bilirubin levels. I have to carefully watch my liver. That's a lot of responsibility that no one should have to take on.
Sometimes I look forward to my dreams...the dreams I felt would be attainable no matter what. But I look at them now, in the shadows of "mental illness," and let's face it...there is a stigma attached to that term that really sucks. I think about my hopes of the perfect little suburban family with the great husband and dog and kid...and I wonder if that is even possible anymore. Who would want to marry me like this? And would I even allow anyone to go through that? Sure...the high points MUST be great...but can that really compensate for the inevitable lows? And the kid...how could I bring someone into the world knowing that there is a chance he would suffer from the same thing as me? Or even on a more selfish level, how could I risk going off of my meds for the nine months of pregnancy?
So I sometimes pretend that there is nothing wrong with me. I take my medicine in the morning and at night, but I pretend it's vitamins. I mean...if you lie to yourself enough you start to believe it, right? And of course this is a silly, not to mention cowardly approach to things. Plus it doesn't last too long...because we CAN'T hide from who we are.
It took me months to be able to accept that I suffer from bipolar disorder. I felt that I was lucky. That doesn't seem like a long time at all; I know people who were diagnosed years ago who still haven't come to terms with it. It's possible to even say that I've embraced it. Can I really say that I suffer from this? It's such a unique part of us. We are able to experience things on levels that people without this can never begin to comprehend. Can I honestly say I would be willing to give that up? Even the depression...as much as I hate it...as much as I hate myself at those moments...as much as I want to be dead...I have to love the fact that I can feel something so intensely that I would kill myself over.
But then I go back to the times where I want to hide. Where I want to go back to being the happy-go-lucky Jen who doesn't have chemical imbalances...where I want to be able to experience the "typical life" of the average 22 year old.
The fact that I can't do that makes me sad. And lonely. I feel so lonely right now.
Will I stop taking my pills? No. I can't let myself forget how bad it was the last time I stopped. Sometimes I have read that entry in my journal of the day I almost died...it seems so distant...so unreal...but I know it was true...and I can't let myself ever go back to that.
It would be nice to take a vacation from me, though.
Current Mood: lonely
Current Music: Ben Folds Five: Brick
My day was okay today, just gettin done with classes early, dropped Sociology because I was sick of the Juniors and Seniors in the back with their educated opinions and shit. My friend put it best: "You take the class to learn more about it, then they ask you to debate about the shit you don't know." Those bastards. I'm down to 13 credits, which I don't feel too bad about because I'm in ROTC and I think most of the students take about that much. I'm gonna get another tattoo soon, as soon as I get my paycheck it is ON.