Making A Difference

When I was a teenager, my dad was a Bishop for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. During that time, people from our ward (congregation) were always telling me how lucky I was to have him as my dad. Or how much they loved my dad, and how he had helped them with something in their life. I was already a daddy's girl, so I just nodded in agreement. I already knew that! I knew he was making a difference for so many people. Even now, over 20 years later, I occasionally hear from someone how much he helped, or how he was their favorite bishop, or how they love my Daddy.


On another note, I have always been a pretty shy/reserved person. It has taken a lot of work for me to even smile at strangers, or say "hi" if I see someone I know. So, I have always kind of been the person people forget about, or don't think to invite. Not to be dramatic, but it's true. I've seen it so many times throughout my life. Maybe it's more than just my quietness that makes me forgettable. I often feel like it's because I'm unlikeable.


Let me tie these two things together...…


I remember one night in particular, when I found out about a get-together after it had ended. People I thought were good friends had left me out, and I was very disheartened. I cried to my parents about how I wanted to make a difference, and how I wanted to be seen, remembered, included. My dad tried to show sympathy. He told me that he felt that way, too. He told me everybody feels forgotten at times. Through my sobs, I said something about how he had to know that he was helping people, because even I heard about it all the time. Years later, I'm realizing that even the outgoing, loveable people sometimes feel forgotten.


In my attempts to "make a difference" I have shared a lot about my struggles with depression, anxiety, a bipolar diagnosis, and now questioning that diagnosis. I have had 3 different blogs (1 private, one pre divorce, one post-divorce) to share what I experience daily, the ups and downs, and the beauty of one thing that has always been life-saving for me, my children.


There have been so many positives; people thanking me for helping them understand a loved one with similar struggles, or help them put words to their own feelings. When I did a presentation in college, I was approached by many students and even the teacher with stories of their own, or statements of gratitude.


On the flip side, I have been accused of selfishness, lying, exaggerating, or attention-seeking. I've been told it's "not that bad" or to "suck it up" "think happy" or "get over it". Some say I am sharing too much. I have had some unfriend or unfollow me on social media because they can't stand it. A couple have even screamed at me, or completely cut me out of their life. One person said I was depressing and it was too dark.


After years of blogging and sharing, I feel lost. Like I've already shared my story, and nobody wants or needs to hear it anymore. Like the stories of other friends are more important now. It's like my time in the proverbial spotlight has come and gone, so I should get used to the dark. You may think this is just the voice of depression. Maybe you'd be right, but now that my blogs no longer have views or comments, I can't see any other reason. I have been trying for months to understand this feeling, to put my racing thoughts into something others can understand. So, there it is.... my most recent pains and feelings.

Here we go again......

I've always prided myself on my ability to write. I could put words together on paper and it always came out so neatly. I could express things better that way. This is not going to be like that. Here is a brain dump, all the things running through my mind..... well, what I dare to share anyway.

When I was diagnosed bipolar 2, I had 4 young children. I was suicidal, and had been trying to find the right combination of medications to help me for at least 6 months. Once I got on the right medication, I found out I was pregnant. By the time that baby turned 2, I was separated.

Yesterday at an intense appointment, the psychiatrist I saw suggest maybe Bipolar 2 was the wrong diagnosis, or that possible things have just changed enough in my circumstances and my body (being pregnant a few times since that diagnosis....) that I no longer have the same "issues" for lack of a better term..... 

Tonight, I try to express some of the things I am afraid of as I face starting a new medication, a whole new diagnosis (again) and months of work to get the right "cocktail" together, that will probably only last a few years before I get to start this all over again. 

Mental illness is not like other illnesses. There isn't a way to test and decide which medication will work best, or what the exact type of illness is. The easiest comparison is cancer..... there are so many different kinds of cancer, and every type can be diagnosed, and a very specific plan put in place to treat it, from surgeries to medication, chemotherapy, radiation and more. Another example is an infection. When I had a kidney infection, a sample was sent to a lab, where tests were done to show which antibiotics would kill the infection. It took 5 different medications and several hospital visits, but it was "easy". This is different. So, so, so different. I wouldn't say "worse", but it is definitely full of struggles.

I am so scared to start down this path. I know I have to, because for over 2 years I have struggled. I am exhausted from trying to push away the dark. I am frustrated at the pain of constant racing, negative, dark, frightening thoughts. I am discouraged at the way I have been towards those who matter most to me. But I am terrified of what lies ahead. If I get suicidal again, or start crying without warning, or just shut down.... will I be home with just the babies? Will I be driving to pick up the kids from school? Will I be at work? In a public place? If I reach out to someone, will they be available? Will I lose friends again? Can I handle that again?

I am faced with an intense, burning hatred and jealousy for those "simple" illnesses that are quick to diagnose and treat. I am angry that when others struggle, they are given love and support and help when they need it. Appendicitis? We'll fix that. Fever? We have a medicine for that. Gall bladder? Back problems? Knee problems? Rest assured, there is a medicine or a surgery or a brace or something you need. And your loved ones will rally around you! Bring meals, call to check on you, offer help around the house as you recover, even a simple text message. But, a chemical imbalance in your brain? Behavioral or emotional struggles? Let's not talk about that. Stay in the dark with your terrifying thoughts.

Even worse, I find myself angry and envious of those I know who have dealt with mental illness and received help. So many people who've been hospitalized and were ashamed, yet still had so much support. I've never had a long term therapist, psychiatrist, counselor, or doctor. I've bounced around between crappy therapists and doctors that change practice or decide my issues are outside their expertise. I've had family doctors tell me I should stop relying on medicine. Friends tell me I'm just selfish and lazy. A counselor that questioned why I would be depressed when I have a good family, health, a steady job, a home, clothes, etc. 

As I tried to express some of this to Jason he asks what I want. The truth is, there is no good answer for me. I would turn down all offers of help. I'd be embarrassed if I had to rely on someone else in any way. I'd be ashamed, and probably end up beating myself up for not keeping up on my own. I don't want people to pity me, I know I have enough pity parties for myself! 

I just don't want to feel alone. I don't want to face the dark thoughts that are impossible to explain. The racing thoughts that leave me confused, unfocused, angry, irritable, frustrated. I know I'm not alone, and the last thing I want is more cliché comments about how I'm never alone. I know that deep inside. I know the Savior is there for me, and I know my parents, siblings, and extended family would help wherever possible. But this illness is very isolating for me. What I want is to curl up by the fire, cry uninterrupted, and drown out the awful thoughts that are racing around my brain. Maybe drown it out with chocolate and diet coke? But if that worked, it would have done so by now.