Story time

I thought I'd share a short story I wrote a while ago which is part fiction and part auto-biographical. I'll let you try and figure out which parts are what. 

Thanks for reading. 

Love,

P

"The Phone Call" 

   I'm sitting at the table with tears streaming down my face. The teardrops roll down my face and neck ruining my favorite shirt. 

   My vision is blurry as my eyes are overcome with drops of emotion and with my right hand I knead my eyes in an attempt to stop the tears. 

   I know my mascara has run. So much for waterproof make-up. I guess the manufacturer didn't consider hysterical women in their pitch meeting. 

   The phone is lying next to me but I can't muster the courage to pick it up. Next to the phone is a slip of paper with a number I know I can trust. I just can't trust myself yet. 

    I'm still bleeding. It doesn't hurt anymore though. There's just a dull throb. I numbed it with ice prior to the blood so the pain would subside rapidly. I don't know if it's working this time. 

    My heartbeat throbs in the same steady beat as the dullness in my extremity. It's starting to turn purple. Bruising. 

    My eyes have emptied now. The tears have stopped. My eyes are suddenly Sahara dry. I look over at the phone again, pick it up and dial the number. 

    At the "Hello" at the other end, my throat closes up and I manage to mumble an apology before I hang up. I'm not ready. I thought I was ready. I just need a minute. Like all the other minutes I've needed all the other times before. 

     I head into the bathroom, turn the faucet on and splash my face with water. I wash the blood off. The sting of the water hurts more than the act itself. My eyes almost tear up again but I grit my teeth.

      I bandage myself up and head back into the kitchen. My cat wags his tail at me. I give him some kibble and sit down at the table. I pick up the phone and hear the dial. 

What being Bipolar means in my case {and everyone's story is different}

The general population's idea of what it means to be Bipolar is of someone with extreme mood swings - someone going from happy-go-lucky to bitchy to depressed. That might be the case for a select few but if so then those traits were already a part of their personality to begin with. The illness has nothing to do with being mean to other people as I know it's so easy for people to throw out "Oh, she's just so Bipolar today" if someone they know is having an off day or PMS'ing. I've never in my life been purposely mean to anyone or been bitchy on purpose due to or (or excluding) my illness. I always try to treat people the way I'd want someone to treat me BUT unfortunately for my mom, if I am PMS'ing, she's the one who gets in the crossfire when I do get cranky. I'm by no means perfect. No excuses but she's my mom and she has no problem telling me my period is due soon either.. 

The way my illness has burrowed its symptoms into my brain is that I can feel normal one day (and by normal I mean I feel that I have a bright future ahead and that everything is fine) and the next day I can feel like life isn't worth living anymore. It can then shift again the following day. Usually for me to get into a deep depressive state there's a gradual descent into the darkness. This can be anything from a few days to a week. And when I am in that dark place it can take me a very long time to get out of it. I am, however, a master of disguise and if you were to meet me on one of my dark days you wouldn't think anything different of me. I don't let the world know what's happening within me. Some people do and good for them. I don't. I can't. I'm terribly at explaining myself in person (it's easier to write my feelings down) so if I were to say something people would just probably think I was moaning or being a baby. The only person I can really be honest with is my GP because he's the source of my medication so I need to be - for both our sakes.

Another symptom that I have, which is noticeable if you really know me, is the hypomania. When the hypomania hits (and it doesn't fairly often anymore) then I'm like an OCD caffeine-doped robot obsessed with perfection. I'll also have severe insomnia and but my mood or effectiveness won't be affected. 

After the hypomania is over though I'll crash into a depression which is usually deep. Thankfully, I don't become hypomanic that often anymore. The crashes are horrible to live through. It's like my body just goes into hibernation and I don't function anymore. And it's not like I'm cute as a bear cub either, more like I look like I belong at the local dive-bar with a shot of JD eternally being poured in front of me.. Oh joy.

As always, thank you for reading. I'll blog more soon.

- P <3