Monochromatic Lifestyle

This post is hard for me to write. I am going to put some things out there that many don't know about me. I know that this is being put on social media-I have family and friends who will see this and be wildly disappointed in me, but for my own journey, it's important that I discuss my low points and the things I learned from them. Please, reserve your judgement and offer only love. 

I am bipolar.

From the time I was a kid, I remember my family making comments about my irrational emotions. 

"You're always crying"

"You need to calm down"

"Why are you always so upset?"
"You are WAY too hyper."

When I was a teenager, I remember my emotions being too big for me to handle-from angry outbursts, to the "upside" of bipolar and the elation that comes with it, to an attempted suicide. I was told that I was just an out-of-control teenager. I was told that I had depression. I was told that I had PTSD (the only accurate diagnosis I received at this stage in my life). As me and my emotions grew bigger and bigger, the list of people who could bear to be around me grew smaller and smaller. I don't blame anyone who left my side during this time- I was a stressed out, walking train wreck. As desperate as I was to be heard by the people around me, they were even more desperate to get me out of their hair.

Four days after I turned 18, a fight with my step-mom turned catastrophic and I had all of my things packed in my car in a matter of hours. I called one of my teachers who lived in my neighborhood, and she opened her basement to me in exchange for free Krispy Kreme and an occasional sitter for her less-than-one-year old twins. This was the moment when I needed stability, and knew that I was the only one that could provide it to myself. 

I was 4 months away from my high school graduation. I was working 2 jobs, and my guidance counselor worked out an arrangement with my schedule. I was ahead in credits, so I was able to drop everything but my last English credit, and went to class 3 times that semester. I graduated with honors and celebrated what would be the first of many times I would overcome similar obstacles.

As life continued on, I started to better understand myself. I had grown up in a house where anger was the go-to emotion, and I knew I didn't want that for myself anymore. I started my first grown-up job, and although I did a LOT in my almost 4 years with the company, I often look back at that time and shake my head at my emotional immaturity. I was professional, but I was still myself, and my emotions were still erratic. I was intelligent and knew how to grasp new concepts, which did wonders for me as I climbed the ladder. My emotions, however, were not as intelligent. One day I was the office clown, the next day I was irrationally angry at the lady from the reception desk that made a snarky comment. This was the time in my life when my bipolar started creeping into my life decisions, and although not catastrophic at the time, it started a trend.

On my good days, I was on top of the world. I would go out to eat, I would go shopping and buy new clothes. I bought a $50 pair of moccasins and wore them every day. A few days later, I would start to deflate. I would miss bill payments because I had spent my money on... well, a $50 pair of moccasins. I could see the cycle that I was in, but when I was on that high, there WERE no problems- I was invincible, and no one could tell me otherwise. 

Around this time, I started dating my daughters dad. He was a place of stability for me, and although I experienced a few bouts of anxiety or depression, I felt that I was doing better. I caught up and paid off all of my bills. I bought a car, got pregnant, and then all hell broke loose.

You see, pregnancy and the hormones it gives you can also be a trigger for a lot of things- endometriosis (check), postpartum depression (check), anxiety (check). My mental health had hit the jackpot, and my downward spiral began. 

For the first 6-12 months after Brinlee's birth, I struggled with postpartum depression to the point of considering suicide. When she was 7 months old, the destructive behaviors began-from drinking, staying out all night, half-hearted hookups with random guys on Tinder- I did it all. I sabotaged a relationship and became manic when it ended- I would text him throughout the night asking what I had done wrong, asking why he didn't love me, asking why he wouldn't come back. I had no idea that what I was doing wasn't normal behavior. My mental-stability was non-existent, and instead of having people around me that helped me through this, I was surrounded with people who didn't have the ability to recognize that I was not well. I have to say though, my  mother instincts were stronger than my situation, and never once was Brinlee exposed to these behaviors.

My tipping point was when I drove 6 hours for a guy who wanted to hook up. I went from northern Utah to Southern Utah, drank too much and engaged in activities that were out of character for everything I stood for. I felt elated and excited that someone thought that I was worth a 6 hour drive.

I cried the entire 6 hour drive home. 

As I once again deflated, I realized that he did not think I was worth a 6 hour drive. I was simply desperate to be loved and riding a manic high that took me across an entire state, and deep into my downward spiral. I was embarrassed of myself and the way I was living. I was a mom, for christ sake.

That was the moment when I truly became familiar with the fact that I may be bipolar. 

I came home, and I decided to turn things around for myself. When a long-time friend of mine came around with intentions for a hook-up, I turned him down. I knew that making that decision would have ruined me, and I wouldn't have come back from it. 

Insert Gage. 

I met Gage at work, when I was a banker for Wells Fargo. We hit it off immediately, sharing music and discussing our struggles with depression and social anxiety, and sharing hamburgers and falling asleep while watching the snow from the window of my apartment. It started as friends, and I was determined to keep it that way. Dipping my pen in the company ink was not the type of person I wanted to be, but one thing led to another and soon I was meeting his parents and trying to pretend that we weren't sleeping together. 

One month later I found out I was pregnant. The secret was out and he was now moving in with me while we sorted out what the hell we were going to do. He was almost 3 years younger than me, and my "one bedroom" apartment was the size of a studio. My bed was in the living room while Brinlee's crib was crammed into the corner of the "bedroom".

I was almost 9 weeks along when I miscarried, and I was convinced that I had caused it by my reaction. I had spent 3 weeks crying and crying and crying. Now, I had manifested this. Looking back now, my heart hurts for my young self. 

I spiraled into my first manic-depressive episode since postpartum. I would sleep all day, and cry all night. I drank more than I should have and was completely reliant on Gage for sanity. He picked me up and dusted me off, and soon I was back to my happy-go-lucky self. Once again, my happy turned into "too" happy, and I hit a manic high. 

I began shopping. I bought clothes, food, furniture- you name it. It wasn't recognized by either one of us at the time, and soon my elation turned to normalcy again. 

Then, a couple weeks later, the high began again.

Then a couple weeks after that.

And a couple more weeks after that.

I would deflate, and hit a depressive episode lasting anywhere from days to weeks, but soon I was soaring again. I recognized this pattern as it continued to happen on a more regular basis, but I ignored it-none of my decisions had been catastrophic at that point, just a few new shirts here and there.

Then it hit me- a mania so high I couldn't even feel anymore. I broke up with Gage, I felt disconnected from my self, my job, my family-everything was gray, and I was okay with that. I didn't need anyone.

When the colors started reappearing in the corners of my vision, the reality of what I had done hit me, and the first thing I did was go and see a psychologist. My diagnosis was confirmed through a history of behavior, mental evaluation, and family history (my biological mother is bipolar).

I began researching and documenting all of my emotions and behaviors. For the first year, I self-helped and had good success. I have always wanted to be stable, and I knew that if I understood myself, I could handle myself. I got back together with Gage and resumed my normal routine.

One of the benefits of documenting came later down the road. As I reviewed the weeks worth of behaviors and emotions that I had colored on the pages, I started to notice that the depressive episodes became more often, and stayed longer. I made the decision then to get on medication. I lucked out with the first one I tried. My journal became much closer to a monochromatic painting than an endless rainbow of excessive emotions. I felt more successful in my job, and found myself feeling more overall happy with my life.

I've been on this medication since, and so far, it is still working as good as ever. After surgery and being so sick, I got off of my routine and missed a few doses, causing a weekend depressive breakdown, with a manic-high intermission that lasted about 3 hours. This made me even more grateful to have been given this medication when I was. Seeing a glimpse of the chaos of emotion living inside of me was frightening and alerting to me. Where would I be if I had continued on my cycle of emotions, ignoring it because it 'wasn't that bad'?

I guess what I'm getting at is that I'm grateful for the people who did stick through my side through all of this. I'm grateful to myself for finally letting go of my pride, and seeking out help. For many people who struggle with mental stability, this can be the hardest step. But the relief you will find when you can be proud of your life and stability is unmatched. I want to be clear-when I say "monochromatic", I don't mean I don't have any emotions, because I do. I still cry more than anyone I know, and I find joy looking into my daughters eyes and watching her grow. I get stressed when it's valid and I still have bad days. Stepping into the suffocating office of a psychologist can be overwhelming, but I can tell you now that a life of monochromatic pages is 100x better than the five minutes of elation you get with a manic high. There are no crashes.

Please-if you are struggling- GET. HELP. It is okay to not be okay. It is okay to tell the ones around you that you feel unstable, or that you don't feel like yourself. In the time since I've started medication, I've located the stability that I yearned for since I was a child, and I found it in myself.