I don’t know what living a balanced life feels like. When I am sad I don’t cry, I pour. When I am happy I don’t smile, a glow. When I am angry I don’t yell, I burn. The good thing about feeling in extremes is when I love I give them wings. But perhaps that isn’t such a good thing either because they always tend to leave me and you should see me when my heart is broken. I don’t grieve, I shatter.
When you first become sick they will show you sympathy. They’ll send you cards and hope that you get well soon. The call or text to check in on you and see how you’re doing. They’ll cut you some slack because of your situation. They’ll be understanding when you have trouble keeping up with them.
But once your illness becomes a chronic condition they wonder why you can’t get better. They show impatience and frustration. They stop trying to include you in their plans. They ask why you aren’t trying harder. They just don’t get it. They just want you to be able bodied again so that you are not inconveniencing them.
People get tired of you being sick but they don’t stop to think that you’re probably tired of being sick too. They don’t take the time to think about how you would love to just get over it. They don’t care enough to realize that you did not choose this.
I kinda had a meltdown last night. My pain was so bad. We went to bed and we were talking about our plans for today. Said we would go to church this morning, go to gander and check out the derby for a bit but not stay for the full thing, pick up my morphine at the pharmacy which is due today, and go to church again tonight.
I went to turn over in bed and I hurt so much that I started to cry. It was an ugly cry. Sobbing. Snot. Tears. Hyperventilating. I know that it was going to happen sooner or later because things have just been building up. I feel so guilty because David is on holidays and I know I am holding him back from doing things.
Anyways we had a chat and he massaged my back and we decided no church this morning. Instead I slept in. Now he’s gone to Gander to get my pills and he’s gone to the derby by himself. It took a lot of convincing because he refused to go without me but it makes me feel much better knowing that he’s gone to do something. We do every single thing together. He never has any time without me and I think that individual time is really important. We have a very dependent relationship. It’s like we can’t be on our own without feeling incredible guilt. So I think it’s good that he’s doing something without me.
He’s going to be home in time for supper and then we will go to this evening’s church service. While he’s gone I’m going to relax and have a hot shower, to help loosen the sore muscles all over my body. In order to go to church I need the entire day to prepare.
That’s what it’s like living with CRPS.
You plan around the pain.
Note to self: You don’t have to take this day all at once. But rather one step, one breath, one moment at a time. I will be satisfied with every little thing I do today because I know how much strength it took.
Just feel like venting. My chest is heavy. I’m emotionally drained and physically exhausted.
Why am I so lazy?
Well, it’s not lazy. Lazy is when you shrug things off because you just don’t give a damn. When you’re curled up on your couch, on your bed, alone and desperately wishing that you had your life in order, that you did all the things you had to do, that it didn’t feel like breaking through rocks just to feed and clothe yourself and get some sleep, that’s not lazy. People don’t understand. You tell them it’s hard and they tell you, no it isn’t. You start to wonder if maybe they are right. Is breaking through these rocks easy for everyone else? Are they that much stronger than me?
They don’t look like they’re struggling.
Just try harder they say.
But I am trying!!!!
It’s just not working.
Breaking boulders in my path until I’m worn out isn’t lazy. And I do it day after day after day after day after day. I’m not lazy. Most people don’t have those rocks to break. They don’t even know what it’s like to have to break through rocks to get things done. They don’t understand how hard I have to work and how hopeless I feel when I try and try and try and only fail to do what other people seem to do so freaking easily. Things are harder for me. They really are. And if those people had to deal with my problems, they wouldn’t be able to do any better than I am doing.
I’m not lazy.
I’m not weak.
I’m fighting hard. Damn it!!
I’m fighting harder than ever before.
And I guess I just wanted you to know that today.
The evil head of bipolar has decided to surface this week and it has forced me to my knees in brokenness. I spent the past 2 days curled up in the fetal position in my bed, a dog on either side of me keeping me warm. I am a walking zombie, experiencing waves of emotion that leave me crumpled over in tears. I’m so detached that I have no awareness of what’s happening around me, often not even hearing David say my name. Buddy has taken to lying on top of my chest and I welcome his weight and warmth as it’s the only thing reminding me I’m still alive.
Bipolar disorder is hard.
I’ve gone a while without having an episode but when I do, each one is truly a battle of life and death. Yesterday I took a handful of pills. Not enough to stop my heart but enough to induce a 19 hour semi coma. My husband came to find me in a very deep sleep, curled up in the fetal position, and drooling and he wasn’t able to wake me. After a while he pulled me to a sitting position and got me to drink water. In a fit of rage he flushed all of the medication, leaving me without any for the next 2 weeks, until I can get it filled again. I’m screwed.
Then he sat up all night. My husband sat up the entire night, watching over me, afraid that I was going to stop breathing. But I didn’t. I made it through the night and he left me in bed and went to work at 6am with zero sleep. And that’s where I stayed until 4pm today. My only accomplishment has been a shower which I cried the whole way through.
If you have a god that you pray to, I ask from the bottom of my heart that you would whisper a prayer for me. I’m not doing so good …. and I’m really scared. I don’t know how much I can handle.
My day? Not too good. I haven’t gotten out of bed other than to pee and feed the puppers. I’m in excruciating pain in all my joints. The soles of my feet and the front of the legs are crimson red and hot and the blankets even hurt me. Having a flare up of CRPS. Not fun.
I’m trying to decide which can cause more damage to my marriage: the medication side effects or an unmedicated illness.
Ever since I started medication for my bipolar disorder years ago, I have secretly struggled with a decrease in sexual desire.
I could stop the meds. Then I wouldn’t have to force myself to have sex with my husband. I wouldn’t have to start mentally preparing myself in the morning so that I could initiate sex that night and make my husband think I’m all fired up.
I am, in fact, fired up. But it’s not something that instantly happens anymore. I can’t get spontaneously turned on and desire sex at random times. Not since I began treatment for bipolar disorder.
I have to spend hours working towards it. Mentally, I self talk. I do thinks to make myself FEEL pretty. Paint my nails. Or style my hair. Send David a few kinky texts at work. Texts I have already written and prepared and saved in a file. Ready for when I need them. Maybe I put clean sheets in our bed.
And sometimes I go to our “special” drawer. A place where we keep our adult toys. I hold one and visualize the things we’ve done with it. I pick up another and another and imagine what I could do with it with David that night.
Sometimes I start to feel a tinge of desire. Of longing. And I begin to get excited for him to get home from work. I lie back on my bed and all of a sudden I feel like crying.
I should not have to work this hard and I should definitely not need to prepare myself like this in order to be intimate with my own husband. So I battle with the thought of stopping my medications.
If I do that, what happens then? A completely different problem arises. The bipolar itself. A whole new kind of strain on our marriage.
Stopping my meds means the depression will surface. I won’t want to get out of bed. I’ll be very irritable and end up causing arguments with my husband over little insignificant things. Without my meds I blow up over everything.
I may become manic. End up spending our mortgage money on dog toys on eBay. I stop sleeping so I don’t even make it to bed for nights on end.
And sex? Yeah! I can’t control myself. I want to be touching him all the time. I need to be near him every minute that he’s home, often causing him frustration because I take away his personal space.
Then we argue.
We get frustrated.
And I get suicidal.
All of this because I stopped my medication so that I could be more intimate with my husband. But instead, the bipolar has made things even worse.
So ultimately, what has more effect on intimacy in my marriage? I don’t exactly have an answer to that. Living with bipolar isn’t easy and there isn’t a single area of my life that isn’t affected. I wake up every morning, afraid. Afraid that he will leave me because intimacy is so complicated for us.
So what would cause more damage to my marriage? Taking the medication or living with untreated bipolar disorder? I’m not sure and I’m not about to find out.
Because thankfully I have an amazing guy who tries his best to understand me and my illness. We communicate openly about intimacy in our relationship and I know that I won’t ever have to stop my medication in order to keep my husband satisfied sexually.
And I hope you never feel the need to do that either.
You know what really sucks? When you have all sorts of hopes and dreams for your life but all it amounts to is ink on paper. I just want to be a part of society, ya know? But instead I feel like I’m the only one in this world. I feel … forgotten.
#RawEmotion #LetsBeReal #heartache