i haven’t been writing much. i could make up an excuse. (i’m good at excuses.) but i think the real reason is i’m afraid that if i write anything, i will write everything. there are some things (moments, ideas, enlightenment) that i keep to myself because they are sacred. and there are some that i keep to myself simply because to say them out loud is frightening.
but i think i’m starting to learn, over the past few years anyway, that saying something is usually better than saying nothing. it’s so much easier to capture and control a piece of your life when you can articulate the hurt and confusion, rather than mulling it to death in your own quiet mind.
i want to write down the troubles i’ve been having. maybe they will spare someone similar pain. or maybe it will give you an idea of how to relate to people who know the troubles i know. or maybe the only person who will feel a difference is me. in any case, i think i feel ready to have a discussion of the past few years of my life.
i want to repost here a little ditty that i wrote for segullah back in september because it sums things up. (and if you don’t already know, i belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints so there are some references to the social aspect of church in the paragraphs below. if you need any clarification, please feel free to contact mitt romney. or me. whichever makes the most sense at the time.)
Hi. My name is Jes. I was recently diagnosed bipolar.
I’ve wanted to say that out loud for a long time—but there never seems to be the right moment. Not when my new Relief Society president is sitting across from me on the couch. “Are you settling in?” she asks. And I want to say, “I just found out I’m bipolar. I mean, you know, obviously something’s been wrong. I’m terrified. I don’t know what that means. I need help. I need friends.” But I don’t. It’s just so weak to tell someone right off the bat that I am not well. I don’t exactly want to be on the list of troublemakers in the ward; you know who I mean, the people who take and take and take, with some feeling of entitlement and not enough gratitude. No, you don’t want to be on that list and neither do I. I don’t want to be cast as the crazy woman before anyone even knows that I teach killer Relief Society lessons, have perfected the cheesecake, and give a great series on writing personal history. The truth is, most days I’m just like everybody else. I get up and get on with things.
My diagnosis (I call it mine, but it still feels so completely other–something that happens to other people, people I don’t know) was a long time coming. I’ve had the hypomanic episodes: writing for hours at a time, glowing, feeling like I’ve managed to harness the universe. I’ve had bouts of crazy depression, but I always got out of it one way or another. I’ve had vague thoughts of suicide on a couple occasions, but no serious planning.
And then I had my two children. Suddenly my little problems weren’t little anymore. Suddenly they weren’t just between me and my mind anymore. I had this whole family to run, and I was incapacitated. One of the more unfortunate side effects of bipolar disorder for some, and especially me, is postpartum psychosis. After those nine months and hours of labor, I didn’t even get to sit and snuggle my little ones, enjoying their smells and coos reveling in the bliss of motherhood. I was insane. I heard voices. I was gripped with such panic that I held down waves of nausea. I was in such physical and mental pain that I would look at other families in church with pews of children and hold down the tears, wondering what made them so much stronger than me. What did they feel that I didn’t? Or, perhaps, what didn’t they feel that I did?
And now I’m riding the medication waves. I take one thing, then another, facing side effects that seem worse than the disorder itself. I’ll be fine for a few weeks or months and think everything is solved, and then I tank, hurtling down so fast I can barely breathe.
I suppose if I lived near good friends, near my mom and dad, near people I could trust, it might not be such a problem. But, in reality, I’ve signed up for a life of hauling myself and my problems across the country every few years, following my Air Force husband. The stability my condition needs the most is the thing I know I will never have.
It leaves me wondering, are there other people out there like me… Is anyone else afraid to trust their own brain? Afraid that they might not be able to take care of their family? Trying to keep and make covenants when they go for weeks or months at a time without being able to feel anything? Trying to enjoy the life of their little ones when most days they just want to hide? Is there anyone else denying the reality of their diagnosis? Anyone else who clings to faith, afraid to be open about their mental troubles in case they get holed up somewhere they don’t belong?
so, that is a little sad. boo hoo. i’m not sitting here feeling sorry for myself: just ready to get this off my chest. all i can think about these days are meds and brains and little birdies twirling around my head. i’m hoping that if i can force myself to write more freely about my real day in and day out without trying to edit out my condition that it will be easier somehow. and we all have something to grapple with, don’t we? so why not grapple together? (and i’m especially pleased with the way i used grapple in that last sentence.)
Grappling with others, especially strangers, is so much easier than grappling by yourself. Please grapple with us. Some of us, especially me with a Schizo-affective husband, really appreciate your willingness to share the other side of the story. Not many people with mental illness are with-it enough or brave enough to share their experiences.
Jessie, What is so surprising is that how many people in the other pews are looking around, even at you, thinking the same thing… “how is she so strong and I am not.” As I battle my emotional/mental problems, I have found relief in sharing my experience with other women. I have been shocked to find out how many of the people, who seem to have it all together, are also struggling with some sort of mental illness. We are not alone. Not even close. I don’t know how it feels to be bipolar, I am sure it is horrible, but I totally get panic, postpartum depression and detachment, and the struggle with medication. I will be thinking of you!
Bethany Lee
Wow, thank you for sharing this. We should all be so out loud.
I hear you. My issues are on only the one, depressive pole, so I can’t say I totally understand, but you are heard and loved. (Hugs) Please, share your true struggles with us when you feel comfortable doing so. Editing your thoughts can be so exhausting, I know.
I’m all about being out loud. It’s better/easier/healing-er. I wish you nice birdies in your head, and a lot of words you feel to share.
Much love. I am thinking of you these days.
So. Thanks for being those words I just needed to hear. I’m not feeling so hot. And I have no good reasons. But you put suffering in such beautiful words. It makes me feel like there really might be a purpose. Meaning behind it all. Teach me how you do it.
Jes. You are truly amazing. Tell me how you manage. I seem to manage just barely these days.
Hello my dear friend (I say that because I feel like I know you so well),
We seem to have a friend in common who told me about your blog. She read my latest post on my blog and sent me an email about you. I want you to know that I understand where you are coming from 95% (I’m just not a Mother or I would say 100%).
I was diagnosed with Bipolar 1 Disorder when I was 18 years old. For the first 5 years I was on so many different medications I can’t count. I struggled with the side effects of weight gain, not sleeping, sleeping to much, and so on. I was in and out of the hospital so many times I can’t count. I remember sitting in the Doctor’s office at 18 and him giving me some weird test and then at the end without looking at me said, Jill you’re Bipolar. I felt my heart sink and my head started to swim. How on earth could he have told me that with no feeling or expression at all? I was devastated.
Now, 10 years later I have spoken all over the country at different medical schools, medical conferences, newspapers, news channels, and NAMI organizations on my struggle with Bipolar. I have learned that I’m NOT Bipolar, yet I HAVE Bipolar. My disease does not own me. It’s a part of me, but it’s not who I am.
I still have ups and downs, but I have learned how to use my disease to my full advantage. I have learned the warning signs of mania or depression and have worked to know how to deal with them. I have gone through 7 years of therapy and still go in for “touch up’s” every now and again. I see my doctor regularly and in fact I was with him yesterday at a medical conference. In short, I want you to know you are not alone and that I to once felt like I couldn’t trust my own brain. Just know that it gets better.
I would love to talk to you anytime if you would ever want to. I think you have my email with me leaving this comment, so please use it. You are an amazing person, and you will accomplish much in this life. You just have learn how to take this trial and turn it into a gift from God. It’s not easy to do, but I know you can.
Sincerely,
Jilly
Oh Jes, doesn’t that feel so good? It makes me feel ok to write that I have post partum depression right now after rodney. not psychosis, but close. things were bad. i thought about driving off a cliff so they can all go to heaven instead of me ruining all of them bad.
i pray you find some medicine that helps soon, and know that we are all praying for you and routing for you and that NO ONE has it figured out. not even close, thank goodness for the plan of salvation.
oh you are all so lovely. we should talk on the phone sometime. reading your responses make me feel like i need to write an awful lot more about this. not just for you, for me. i keep it all sneaked up inside and i think the sneaking makes me ashamed. i need to keep being reminded that i do have a disorder and that’s different than just being a pathetic laze around. so i’m going to try and answer some questions in my next post. and it sounds like we could all learn a lot from jill. thank you for your perspective. i think this is the first time i’ve felt like eventually this business will not be standing on my chest, drowning me.
I so admire your bravery. In reading this post, I couldn’t help but wonder how much of what you have felt and experienced is because of your disorder and how much is just motherhood in all its insanity-provoking glory. I certainly could relate to a lot of what you said, though I can only imagine how much it must be magnified and complicated by the illness you are battling. (I, on the other hand, sometimes am just being a pathetic laze around.) The one thing I am pretty sure about is that it’s hard for nearly everybody, and many people who look like they’ve got it all under control don’t. We just don’t talk about it enough. So thank you for opening up the dialogue. And a big hug for how extra-hard dealing with bipolar disorder must make things for you.
Jes, I’m proud of you for sharing this. I love you. I know what it is like to not want to be the one who always seems to need stuff from the ward, your family, etc. I have needed a different kind of support, but it’s still hard sometimes. That being said, one of the best things I’ve done this last year is to tell my visiting teachers about my struggle. They have been awesome, and I am so grateful for everything they’ve done for me. The thing is, I doubt they have spent too much more time (a bit more, I know, but we’re talking a few hours here and there, not many hours a week or anything) being my visiting teachers than they would have done anyway, but they now understand my needs and so they are able to use the time they have already set aside to be my visiting teachers much more effectively.
Jessie, I read this post almost a week ago and have been thinking about it ever since. These are all really great comments that others have left here and I don’t really have much else I can add except that I wish I could give you a hug, take time to really listen to you, and be there to help you. You were that for me a couple years ago and I still am so grateful to you for that love and help. The theme at the institute here for the Friday lunch talks this semester has been “Is any thing too hard for the Lord?” from Abraham. It’s been a good thought to remember the answer to that question. With His help, all things are possible. Love to you, and thank you for sharing your struggles - you may never know how much of an impact it can have on someone else, even me!
There are lots of things I’m not very out loud about. Maybe I’ll hint at things quietly, but I tend to gloss over quite a lot. I still write, though not completely honestly because that’s SCARY. Thanks for being so brave. It makes me feel magnetically closer to you.
Jessie,
I’m proud of you for sharing your “secret.” We all have things that we struggle with, our Goliaths if you will, but most of us are too afraid to own them, to make them ours. I’m sorry that you’re struggling. I know it can’t be easy having Joe gone all the time either. I just want you to know how much I love, admire, and respect you. You are one of the kindest people I know! I pray that you’ll figure all of this out in time. Hopefully sooner than later. Hugs and prayers headed your way.