Dealing with my bi-polar disorder right now is challenging. It's not so much that I'm depressed or manic, because I really don't feel myself tipping either way. It's keeping anxiety stable and remembering to take my meds so that I don't tip either way while Matthew is going through his meltdowns. Nick and I try, we really do. Matthew gets upset if he doesn't have electronics. Friday night I took away his iPad, and he started screaming and pounding on stuff. He demanded to get what he deserved. So I took away every electronic device he had, including his tv. I told him he could earn his tv back by listening and not throwing fits. That wasn't good enough for him. Saturday he was still without everything, and he made the best of it playing with slime and playing outside. Nick and I were very proud of him.
What else is real in my life? The screaming and yelling. I don't like yelling, and I'm ashamed to say that I will end up yelling when I've reached the end of my limit, but I'm a slow burn. Nick hits his limit way before I do. And Matthew will completely flip out at the drop of a hat but is more of a crier than screamer until he's really worked up.
But things can be really peaceful, too. This is why I worry about my mental health. I never know what my day is going to be like. Are we going to have meltdowns? Is it going to be a happy, peaceful day? Matthew was so peaceful on Christmas morning, enjoying his new robe and matching slippers. Then it seemed as though the day overwhelmed him, and the behavior was frightful to put up with. I felt as though I was apologizing to his grandparents for how ungrateful he acted when they dropped off presents. I often feel like I'm apologizing for behaviors in this house and walking on eggshells, never sure of what's going to happen.
So here's the harsh reality in my life. I'm scared for my mental health. I'm scared with everything going on, my meds aren't going to keep me going. My therapy sessions are all online right now, and it just doesn't help me as much as meeting in person. I just don't benefit from talking to my therapist on the phone (damn our crappy ass internet for not giving us a good enough connection to even see her).
I seriously thought that COVID would be over by now. I knew that life wouldn't have gone back to our old normal, but I thought that we would have already had the vaccine distributed to everyone, that we'd be out of our masks, that everyone would be back to school and work, and we'd be in our post-COVID new normal. Instead, we're still in the pandemic, and I'm holding on for dear life (like many others).
Reality. Some days I'd just like to stop taking my meds and hope for a good manic phase. I'd like to be productive, get a clean house, be a super-sexy wife, be supermom, and just be the greatest manic person that there is. But I know that, realistically, there is no guarantee that if I go off my meds I'll get the manic phase, and even if I do, there's always that crash after.
For your viewing pleasure, here's a picture of Nick and Matthew.
Until next week's dirt...
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