I was always over emotional about almost everything. At least that's what my mom always said to me when I'd get upset over something. I figured at that point nobody would want to hear my problems. I should just get over it. I was a good kid in school. Since I had very few friends, I stayed home a lot. I was a band geek. I was teased about anything and everything. It was an amazing day if nobody picked on me. On the really horrible days, I'd sit in my room and see if it were possible to smother myself with a pillow. Then I would be scared of how I felt.
I was sexually abused as a child and my mother was physically abused by my father, right in front of me. My idea of how relationships worked was not healthy. I felt like I had to do everything in order to please everyone. I just wanted to be loved.
I've had insomnia off and on my entire life. When I was 20, I finally went on medication for it. by this point, I was starting to make poor decisions. I started getting boyfriends and then would cheat on them. At parties, I was the one dancing tables and taking my top off… the life of the party! I had credit cards and maxed them out on shit I didn't need. Then I'd become so upset awhile later that I'd come home from work and hide out with the tv and sleep all the time.
I met a man who was emotionally abusive and we were together for 2 years. By this point, he'd convinced me that I was sick and make me believe I was a burden on him because he had to take care of me. Since I knew I had some problems to deal with, it became really easy to let him control me and there were so many days when I couldn't get out of bed, whacked out on Xanax because it was easier than getting up and doing anything. Eventually the anxiety over my relationship and the heartache I felt caused me to spend a night in the hospital, full of sleeping pills. I wanted to be done with it all. luckily, that plan didn't work out.
This pattern of acting out and then endless days of despair went on for about 15 years while I spent time in and out of long-term relationships. I was engaged 3 times before I met my husband. I cheated on all of those men. I've done drugs and partied, happy to escape the monotony of being me. I wrecked my credit because I needed "stuff" to make me happy. There was nothing in the world to fill the void. Then I spent days, moping in my bathrobe. Spending an entire weekend, stoned and binge-eating, alternated with sleeping.
Finally, after countless therapists and medications later, I was diagnosed with Bipolar II. The kind that leans more toward depression. It was a start but a meager one because the anger within me began to surface. I became short-tempered and when something set me off, I would say horrible things. I once threw my husband's lunch off the balcony because of something stupid that I honestly can't remember. My old condo had dents in places because I would throw things. During this time, I was dealing with post partam depression along with this other thing that had been pulling me down my entire life. I couldn't take the recommended meds while I was pregnant or nursing so I was doubly screwed. I cried nearly everyday. I found fault with everything my husband did and was completely ungrateful for everything in my life. Things would have been going well, except for my problem, which I couldn't escape from because it was closing in on me. So then it happened. I had a complete mental collapse; the kind where one's husband is considering sending her away someplace to get help. I lost days during that time. I forgot that my mom came in from out of town to help. my husband would talk about things that happened when she was here and I didn't remember any of it. at this point, my husband and I decided to go to counseling and I found my psychiatrist and he put me on different meds and told me more about my disorder. I've been to a decent therapist since then and she helped. It was the first time I ever stayed with one therapist for longer than a few sessions.
So, things are somewhat managed. I'm always scared that I'll screw up again and I feel such disappointment in myself when I'm taking my meds because it reminds me that I'm sick. I worry about what to say to my son when he's old enough to notice something is wrong. I don't want him to think I'm broken. My insecurities still cause me anxiety in my marriage and I believe I'm not worthy of my husband. I don't cry as much though. I no longer throw things and we don't have screaming, irrational fights. My depression is paralyzing. It feels like I'm pushing on a thick glass window, watching life go by and it distorts and I can't see straight and I can't get out. I'm often forcing myself to participate in life, for the sake of my family. My son is the one thing that gets me through.