I have been diagnosed with bi-polar since I was about 23 years old and I have many meds...from welbrutrin...prozak...depakote...zoloft...paxil. and many other...I have tried suicide by over dosing several times...tried counseling for about 2 years have been from doctor to doctor...have been on company short term disability several times and was hospililized once...I have spells from time to time where I fell down and just don't know where to turn to like now...I work a customer service type job and sometimes helps to talk to others about their concerns...but sometimes it does not...I have had times where I feel so spaced out with this disorder...it is all I can do to get out of bed...maybe take a shower or not...maybe feel like eating or having to force myself to eat one meal a day...losing wait and gaining weight...my overall problem is that my parents are the ones that seems to trigger the problem...I was physically and emotionally abused as a child...I had blocked that out for many years till going to therapy...now my parents are still together but their health is not perfect but they can care for themselves...and they do live and do things for themselves...I work 7 days a week so I am a workaholic...otherwise I would be down and out all the time...I know that may sound a bit odd but if I don't stay busy all the time I feel so depressed all I want to do is sleep...My parents are still emotionally trying to control me and I just wont let them...but actually they do somewhat...they con me into feeling guilty...so I do things for them...When they can do things for themselves...what makes it so hard is that I am an only child and I have so much anger towards my parents...That I have replaced them with other parents...that is that most of my friends are at least 50+ and I am only 27 years old...I don't know how much longer I can hold onto the rope till I finally give up and let go into the fire...does anyone have any suggestions or any kind words...I am feeling so down right now all I can do is sit and stare into spcae and comminicate on the internet...since that is what I do all day long...it is like again working...
I am on strong medication and I find it very difficult to concentrate. For example, If I wanted to read some books, I would find it difficult. I want to complain about doctors but some don't want to understand patients. Some patients who have mental illness do not like injections and prefer oral medications. We are human and we should have just the same rights to protest against the decisions made by the doctors. But, some of the patients in the hospital are extremely high tempered and very violent. Anyone can get easily frightened when someone is violent. I personally think that it would be a good idea if there were security guards on each ward of the hospital so it would be a better place for non-violent patients. Food in the hospital did not fill me and I used to get hungry at night. I was not very satisfied speaking to hospital doctors and nurses were very greedy for money and they don't even have the knowledge to decide how intelligent a patient might be speaking to a doctor. I would like to complain about doctors who were extremely big tempered when speaking to patients and that they think that they have the right over patients in making decisions. Sometimes I find it very difficult to understand doctors in the hospital and some day will find some good speaker to speak to them for me, such as a barrister to make a complaint in writing to the head of the hospital. I only wish doctors were friendly with patients rather than speaking in a hot tempered manner. I hope the reader is interested and wish the reader enjoyed my written words and that my words will be properly judged.
One day in my life when I wasn't feeling so well I found it hard to sleep at night. I kept awake in the mornings for a few days with sleep in both eyes then suddenly when I was going nest to the photograph of my brother and his wife and his baby I looked into their eyes and for a few minutes I was thinking they were spending their holiday in bangladesh. Suddenly their eyes in the photopraph were blinking towards me then I started to hear their real voices in both my ears and I was listening to what they were talking about and I was surprised and amazed at my experience that I was reading their thoughts when they were a millions and millions of miles away on a holiday, then I was thinking that I would be able to do an exam and that I would be able to read the examiners mind in the exam. Then I was kicked out of my fathers flat. I used to sleep in the dustbin rooms next to my father's flat then suddenly someone came from the hospital and took me away from my father and took me to a mental hospital in London and I was there for more then 6 months.
Now I am on a strong medication and when I think about these experiences of amazing mind readings I find it hard to sleep nights and it keeps me awake in the mornings with sleep in my eyes. I believe there is a God and that when I die my soul will fly to heaven and my sins will be forgiven by the powerful almightly God. I hope my words will be judged properly.
The path that I call "my life" is covered with dark pits. Pits of darkness and despair. Where darkness creeps in around you and hopelessness is your only company. It takes all of the energy I have to get out of the dark holes and once I'm out ,I get no sympathy for having been there. So pretty much I end up stuck in the world, blinded by the light around me, with no energy and no one to help me walk forward. I am left hoping for my second wind to kick in and carry me through life. The older I get it takes for that second wind to kick in.
I think that my first depressive episode occured around 2nd grade. My teacher took me aside from my class because she regonized that I seem really uptight and nervous. Growing up with bipolar disorder has been quite an experience. Throughout grammer school I was the perfect student or should I say the perfect actress. In hypomanis I would take on as many tasks that I could, not conprehending failure only to crash into despair later when my interest in life diminished.
I think highschool was where I began to realize that something was wrong. My high school history went something like this: I would start off either normal, depressed or hypomanic. So depending on how I started after a couple months, I would throw everyone in my life for a huge loop. I would go from a confident, beautiful girl to a depressed and running out of class to cry in the bathroom. Or I would go from one peaceful time to a time when my thoughts went so fast I was sure that I was going to explode! Or I would begin dreading the year and end up running the damn school. No one could figure me out, I couldn't figure myself out. My mom used to hit me alot. I remember when I was around 3 or 4 she would lock me up in a room for hours. It was torturous. I kept freaking out. I would worry about starving to death or that they would forget me and leave me in there forever.
She always used to hit me and my sister and brother but it got worse in high school. That's when I would hide in the bathroom until the red handprints would go away. That's when she beat me until I broke down. You see, I have alot of pride and I'm a hard person to break. It was like a sick game we played. It was in highschool that the suicidal thoughts became strong. My sophmore year I constantly dreamed about my own funeral. Mentally imagined many suicide notes. I used to sit and hold knives to my wrists or to my chest, praying to my guardian angel to "just get it over with and end this pain>" But my guardian angel wouldn't have that! I think thats when my best friend "Eric" (fake name for privacy) came into the picture.
He was my best friend. He would spend countless hours on the phone with me convincing me not to give up on life. He coaxed death to leave me alone quite a few times. And it went back and forth like that.When I wasn't suicidal we'd go out and have fun or just talk for hours. He really loved me for "ME." Faults and all. I think I really believed that he was one of the only people who ever really has. So it's really hard for me today to believe in anyone, Loving him made realize I need help. He became my boyfriend of 2 years and I loved him more than life itself. But I was very much still in pain and afraid and bipolar. I would cry in his arms for hours and say "Eric I really think there is something wrong with me. Like mentally sick or something. I think I might be crazy." He would assure me and tell me that wasn't true. If only I had known. But we were young and people didn't talk about that kind of stuff.
So I got into college assuming that my abusive home life was my problem. This is when I found out I was bipolar. My Grandmother (Mom's Mom) is on medication for bipolar disorder and was hospitalized for taking a 2 month shopping spree without informing a soul. We thought she was dead. My mother was taking meds and getting therapy for being bipolar,but she quit and now refuses any kind of help. She is in denial.And then there is me. Stuck in these deadly cycles and not having a clue how I'm gonna make it alone. And that is how I feel right now. Alone. Which really kinds of scares me because I don't think that I have the youth and elasticity to be crawling out of anymore dark and scary holes. I can handle the "highs.They're fun and give me that spark out of life that makes the fight to get out of the hole seem worth it in the end. I remember all the passionate and exasperating moments that I have when I'm "up." How I can be princess for a month.But living on top of the world is only more hell, knowing that any day I could fall into another pit of torture. I think that the next time I fall I shall lie down and rest there for awhile, embracing the darkness around me. Maybe it's not as cruel as it seems. Maybe we could become friends. I mean since we spend do much time together anyhow.
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