Have you ever wondered what it’s like to be locked inside yourself? Or not being able to express the feelings inside you?
I’d like to talk about something that I know will make a lot of people shocked, but it has to be said. As you know, I’m bipolar and have been for a few years now. I was diagnosed when I lived in the US, I was on a daily dose of Xoloft and I was okay on meds. Without medication, I fall to pieces on a constant basis. I mentally beat myself up, I put myself down, I don’t have the confidence to do anything outside of my regular routine and if I do I go over the top like leave the country on spontaineous holidays or spend money on things I don’t need. I feel like everyone hates me and that I cannot do anything right without making someone angry. People have told me how they believe me to be the most happy, positive person they know. They say I’m confident and I make everyone feel like they’re my best friend. And this all comes natural to me. I can’t not be nice to people. I can’t be a bitch unless provoked. I’m always thinking about how my actions affect others, I’m highly concious about how other people feel and frequently put myself before others.
And then the dark times are really dark .Like last night. I lay in bed sobbing because I felt like my life was never going to go anywhere. My life has been and gone, has passed me by and now it’s too late and it’s in the past. I love my daughter and I spoke to my ex last night. I sat there on the phone in floods of tears apologising over and over for being an utter bitch to him. It’s been three years since I left and it’s the first real apology I’ve ever made to him. I fucked up our marriage so bad by not getting help sooner. Once I got the help and the medication, he told me I was like Old Nickie vs New Nickie. He said on medication I was the Old Nickie that he married and he begged me to stay and I still left. There’s not a day that goes by where I regret leaving everything behind to come back to the UK. Even with the high cost of my meds, my friends were there and I had access to doctors that actually gave a crap about how I felt.
Here, I’ve had nothing. Not a single pill, or a prescription or a therapy session. And it’s not through lack of trying. The first time, I begged my parents to take the rifle from the garage and shoot me in the yard. Like get down on my knees and begged, sobbing, snot dripping from my nose- the works. I was deeply depressed, had no job, missed American life and my family and friends. I felt like I had nothing to live for. Of course, you can understand from my parents point of view, their only daughter on her knees begging them to end her life- must have been horrible for them. So the next morning, they drove me to the local doctors surgery. I sat there with my Dad as he passed me tissues while I was still sobbing at everyone. The Dr basically told me that he would refer me to the local hospital for a psych analysis. That was two years ago and I’ve heard nothing. Six months after that, I stood in the middle of my bar job with a large shard of glass threatening to slash my wrists in front of all the customers. Of course, the boss told me to leave and never come back. I walked through the city bawling my eyes out, got onto the bus and went to the hospital. I literally went and handed myself over. Begged them to commit me. Guess what they did? Referred me back to my Drs.
In the last two and a half years has it really gotten any better? No. I’m just better at hiding it now. I still cry, I still break down and think the world hates me. But having a job means I have something in my life that takes a good chunk of the day away. I can’t sit around moping if I have to work. I can’t break down at work, although I still do. I feel like I’m starting to slip into a black hole again and all I’m going to get from my Drs office is the vicious circle of Drs Office -> Hospital -> Drs Office. No one wants to deal with me. No one seems to care. I need medication and the Dr wont give it to me until I’ve had a full psych analysis from the hospital. I know what I have. It’s Type 2 Bipolar. But my Dr won’t listen to the American Drs. I’ve even told them that I will happily pay for my psych file from Milwaukee Mental Health to be sent over. But they won’t have any of it and I’m sick of tired of feeling I’m a burden to the system.
They basically won’t do anything until I’m being rushed to hospital with blood pouring from my wrists. I’m trying to stop myself getting to that point. But it’s hopeless.