I judge myself harshly because of my moods. My depressions. My highs. While I may have people close to me who judge the unemployed or those who depend on Social Security at such a young age as an affront to those who deserve it, I assure no one feels more upset about it than me. There may be those who get angry at people who live off money they don't deserve when the subject comes up. When it crosses their mind because of the news. Because my name comes up. Whatever the case may be, it pales in comparison to how often it crosses my mind. Every day. :Every day I feel angry at myself for not being stronger. Every time I have to pay a bill to survive. Everytime I get groceries. Pay the electric bill. Buy Lily a shirt. I don't deserve the money and I hate myself for needing it. For not having the mental wellness to combat my own emotions. For having them to such an extreme that I can't work. Working is how most men define themselves. It's how I defined myself. Not being able to do it... there's no way I can possibly describe the way it makes me feel.
There may be some out there who don't realize it, but there is a reason I'm who I am today. I lost my mind. More than once. Not just an extreme mood shift. Full blown, institutionalized. I allowed myself to believe fantastical, illogical things. It was terrifying for those around me when it happened. I've sworn to take the meds I've since been prescribed to make sure it never happens again.
To know there's this part of you that doesn't make sense, that you can't trust, it's indescribable. We rely on our minds for everything. Every moment, every emotion, every interaction with the world. When the lines become skewed, it's scary. If I do lose my mind again, if I do push myself too far, I risk losing my daughter. For good reason. If I can't be of sound mind, I can't be a good father. She needs her father to have the presence of mind to take care of her, to see over her. Since I was put on the right med regiment, I haven't had the problem. In three years. That may not seem like a while, but I assure you it's a landmark.
It wasn't until I had my daughter that I had a breakdown of another kind. This time, a high. I couldn't sleep. I began talking rapidly. Getting excited. Having outlandish ideas and aspirations that were far beyond me and made no sense to anyone I told them to.
I entertained the idea that I was secretly being recruited by the military. And things expanded from there. I didn't see my daughter for a while until things settled down and I proved myself capable of taking my meds and staying... well, sane.
To this day, I see her for a grand total of 12 hours a month. I don't see her for a full day. That is the price of what happened, and it won't change until she's six years old.
The lows and the highs finally gave doctors, who'd been struggling with my disorder for years, a clear diagnosis. Bipolar. A disorder I will always have to live with.
To be honest, I cried in relief when we had a name. A name meant we could treat it.
So now the question of work... of being able to define myself again...
It is unclear if I'd be able to work. I have my bad days still. Sara can attest to that. She's a rock, completely patient and understanding of something that I know must be hard. She didn't grow up with me... she didn't get eased into it. We met, I told her, and we've been dealing with it together ever since. I hope to work again someday but so long as I still have sleepless nights leading to highs and depressing paralyzing lows, I can't risk it. I want to. But I have a lot to lose.
My mind. My daughter. Sara.
To this day, when it comes to SS, I pay my bills. The bills I had coming into the relationship I still manage. And as many of ours as I financially can.
We have a great life. Definitely greater than I deserve. Sara's an amazing woman... and I want to be a boon to our relationship, not a hinderance.
I am better today than I was a year ago. I'm recognizing the warning signs and the condition is becoming more and more manageable. But I still have my days.
So to those who have strong feelings about how I need to work, I agree. I want to. I pray I will. Will I? I don't know.
To those who see me/deal with me on my off days... I apologize. The whole time I'm quiet, the whole time I'm sad... I'm fighting... fighting to feel better. I'm sorry if it ruins any one's day. That was never my intention... and I can't apologize enough.
To my family... I'm sorry I'm wasting my potential. My mind is incredibly fickle, hard to understand. But I'm trying. Please stay patient. I'll get there.
To Sara... you're the strongest woman alive. Patient. Understanding. Kind. If I didn't have you, I'd be a very different man. I'm lucky to have met you.
Today I'm having a good day. My mood is relatively stable. Sara and I are taking care of household duties. It's been a productive day. I'd kill for a hundred more like it.
This entry is the first step to admitting to my family how I really feel about these issues, because I'm not so great at voicing them myself. It's also the first step to admitting them to myself.
Bear with me guys... I'm working on... everything.
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