What It Means to Get Up and See Each Day Through With Bipolar Disorder
Mine isn’t a tale of a miracle cure or a magical self-help story. I don’t do yoga and I’m terrible at meditating. I’m an average guy with a family and a job.
Every morning I get up about at six for work, a little later on the weekends. I walk the dog and take the kids to the bus stop during the week. On the weekends I do the laundry, take the kids to soccer, invite the neighbors over for dinner. I don’t exactly project complicated.
But every morning I also take two pills, small round tablets. Early afternoon, I take one of those again. Before bed I take five more, this time a mix of tablets and capsules. They’re almost all pastel, and usually pink. In fact, most of the pills over the last nearly 20 years have been pink.
I go to therapy at least once every month, sometimes less often, sometimes more. I see my psychiatrist every couple of months. I’m on my fourth therapist and third psychiatrist, not counting the ones I saw in the hospital, which I think is pretty good, all things considered.
I used to hear things that weren’t there, usually music, and sometimes garbled, unrecognizable voices. For a brief time I thought my brain was melting, which it luckily wasn’t, but I was pretty convinced. During a couple unfortunate months I also strongly considered throwing myself in the harbor, but didn’t.
So maybe it’s a little complicated. Yet, through all the pills and the side effects, through the psychoses and depressions, through the anger and fits, I’m still a regular guy. I have to be. There is no cure for my illness. I take my medicine and put my faith in science. I get up each day and see it through.
If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, the Trevor Project at 1-866-488-7386 or reach the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741741.
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