I did not recently write this. I found it in my drafts and thought I would post it to remember how far I’ve come.
Even though I thought I was in a good place when I wrote this, I am in a much better place now. Onward and upward, being gentle with myself about the losses.
I’m More than Just a Walking Mental Illness
I’m a human being, just like you, and have feelings too.
As I walked through the wind-blown streets with my dog, Annie, this morning, I began to replay what has been going on during the last few days.
It’s happened again, and I can’t go back in time. I don’t know if I am to blame or not, but it doesn’t feel like it. Usually, I’m the first one to accept blame, so I think if I were to blame, I’d be more aware of it.
I let my family get under my skin again. They ridicule me about my mental illness and talk behind my back. My mom even admitted it; it sure makes me feel bad.
Living with mental illness can be quite exhausting. Not only do you have to deal with managing your symptoms, but how you’re perceived by others starts to wear on you as well. People can be so judgemental and rude. It’s even worse when it’s coming from your own family.
This is not something new. Over the past ten years, they have hounded me and given me the third degree about my mental illness. It’s never just a “How are you,” coming from them.
It usually goes something like this, “So, are you manic? Have you been taking your meds? Maybe you should call the Dr- you seem hyper.”
This. Gets. So. Old.
I’m sick of being under a Bipolar microscope. I’m sick of the stigma that having a mental illness brings. I’m sick of having to say goodbye to my toxic family over and over again because I keep giving them more chances. This time, the chance didn’t last long before they began to scrutinize my mental health once again.
No one is more proactive than me (in my own life) when my mental health is concerned. I monitor my moods and know almost the instant I start to go manic. I get physical warning signs that I can literally feel. I feel tingles all over my body when I’m manic and fear nothing.
Being manic, in itself is not the crime my family would like to believe. It’s not like I can control it either. Once I go manic, the only thing I can do is try to get sleep when I can and take my medication (and try not to spend all of our money). That’s about it- from there I just ride the waves of mania and wait for my dreaded depression to return like it always does. I try not to get too high in my mania or the crash is ten times worse. As soon as I feel it now, I call my doctor.
Something I have realized is that if my family brings a toxic presence into my life, I don’t need to continue with them. Though my siblings are all grown, they don’t act like it. Most of them resort to name-calling and backbiting; two things, amongst others, that I can live just fine without.
This time, I am choosing myself, and my mental health. Until then, my family can go jump into a place far far away from here and just leave me the hell alone. Thankfully, I’m in another state.
I might have a mental illness, but I’m much more than that. I deserve better than how they have been treating me, and I’m not going to settle for their behavior toward me, because I’m going to distance myself this time; maybe for good.
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After reading this, and knowing what happened afterwards makes me kind of sad, because I sunk into a deep depression I just recently came out of. When I wrote this, a few family members were accusing me of being manic, but they made things worse with the way they treated me. I stopped writing. I stopped caring. Thankfully I’m getting another chance.
~Thanks for reading! Until next time, stay safe, and be blessed! 🙂