mental health, Uncategorized

The Hardest Pill I’ve Had To Swallow


I was just beginning to think, not too long ago, that maybe there is a cure for me. Maybe my depression and anxiety actually weren’t caused by a chemical imbalance in my brain. Maybe I’d developed these over the years because of the traumas I have experienced. Maybe if I learn to let those go, I’d be free from my struggles. 

That thought process came to a crashing hault yesterday morning. I was nervous about asking my psychiatrist for a medical card. I should have been nervous for a while other reason. That day, it changed my life. 


“I’m giving you the diagnosis of Bipolar 2.”

Excuse me, what was that?

There is no cure. There is only treatment. That’s all I knew about bipolar. This is something I’m going to deal with for the rest of my life. This is something probably inherited from a family member. This is something huge. 

While I know nothing has changed, I feel as though my entire world has been turned upside down. I’m starting to doubt myself, to doubt my future. 

Will I get worse? Will I turn into one of those women in movies with bipolar disorder? Will I ever make any sense? Will anyone ever want to love me? And if they do, how can I even begin to think about having a family? How would I be able to sleep at night knowing that my children will one day suffer as I have because I was selfish enough to bring them into this world, despite knowing mental illness runs in the family? How am I going to cope with this? Who is ever going to want someone like me in their life? Where did I go wrong? What did I do to deserve this? Will I ever accomplish anything? How do I keep myself from going crazy? 


I’m scared. I had just accepted the fact that I have mental illnesses. I just accepted my ADD. It took me a decade to get the help I’m getting now. And now, I’m bipolar? 

I don’t know what any of this means. I never thought this would happen to me. I feel like crying, but I can’t. My mind is telling me two things. One, “be calm, it’s not the end of the world. You could have worse, it’s not a big deal.” And two, “why are you not freaking the hell out right now? Your life is over! There’s another damn reason you shouldn’t continue to go on. Just go to bed and cry already!”

The worst part of all this is, they were right. My abusers, they’ve been right all along. There is something mentally wrong with me. I do need serious help. Fuck. They were right. 

I’m beginning to even understand them. No wonder they treated me in such horrible ways, I deserved it. I am worthless. I am crazy. They had every right to treat me as such. I’m ashamed. 

There’s a small part of me that’s saying, “stop” as I write this. It’s saying that I’m wrong. If anything, I deserved help, comfort, and love. It’s beginning to make me look at my abusers with even more disgust than before. How dare they take advantage of such a weak mind? What kind of person must they be to abuse someone for years who has suffered from mental illness? 

Then the argument continues, they didn’t know. It’s okay, they had no idea how bad you were. But they must have known. They must have seen it. I was a mess. I couldn’t function. What’s even going on in my mind right now? 

I don’t know where to begin. I don’t know what to do or how to cope with this. I don’t know how I’m going to continue living like this for the rest of my life. I’m strong, though. I’m a fighter. I know I won’t give in to it. But right now, I’m scared and I’m alone. I’m confused and I’m hopeless. 

-Liz

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