Shit, I'm bipolar.

The aftermath

The days that followed my diagnosis were cloudy. 

They  went by slowly and fast at the same time. My mind wondering about my past. About things that happened that now we're finally making sense. And still, thinking about the future. How would things be from now on? How is life without this condition? How the meds are going to make me feel?

And I couldn't push a dark thought : will I adapt?

I've always said that being depresive was my personality. Like, my trademark. Been "depressive" and "anxious" for the last 5 years made me forget how I was without it. I truly can't remember how it feels to be happy and careless. I don't remember how true happiness feels like. I can't even remember when was the last time my mind was in peace, when life seemed prospering.

At the same time, depression gave me mechanisms to hide the pain. I became sour. But not in an exclusive bad way. My sense of humor became acid and self depreciative, but it was good for me. I could laugh even in the darkest times. I could also make people laugh about tragic stuff happening in my life. That was also good. I like to make people laugh. I like to make people feel happy, even if for a second, because I know how much being without it hurts.

I also stopped to have hope. One thing I learned over the last years is that if you don't hope for things, wish or dream, you can't be disappointed, you can't be hurt. So, just like turning off a switch, I never expect anything good to happen. At the same time, I always think about the worst scenarios in every situtation, so I'm prepared. And if the worst doesn't happen, that's a good thing, better than expected, I guess.

Thinking about leaving all of these behind, this personality, this persona, scares me. Who am I going to be? Am I going to change? Am I going to be happy? Will I miss my bipolar's days to a point where I just stop taking my meds to feel it again? Will I leave some addictions? Will I have a bright future?

So many questions.

At the same time that all of this was happening in my mind, the outside world didn't stop for me. My mom was going nuts in her on mind.

She send me an article about how bipolar disorder needs to be carefully diagnosed and that tests are usually runned to exclude any other disease. My psychiatrist asked for some blood and heart tests, so I didn't get the point of her sending me that.

 My mom went on talking about how she thought that the diagnosis was precipitated, too fast, that those meds could be dangerous (she even lied to me saying that she went to the drugstore and the medication was out of stock not only in the store, but in the industry) (I found out that it was a like because the next day I was able to buy 3 boxes of it it in the closest drugstore from home) .

I'm a child from in vitro fertilization. My parents spend over 10 years trying to get pregnant. They had abortions, countless inseminations and I came from their last try. They were running out of money, hope and time. My mom was 39 by then and they said that if that time didn't work, they would give up and turn to adoption. The procedure used 8 eggs - a crazy high and unusual amount for this kind of procedure. And it worked. 9 months later I was born.

My mom told me this story for maybe the 3rd time, saying how much she and my dad wanted me, how responsible she is for putting me in this world and how she feels extremely responsible for everything that happens to me.

I love her for that. Her empathy and altruism are unique and out of this world. But I know this story. I've thought about it a lot. 

When she first told me this story was in the most dramatic, traumatic and sad moment of my life, we were in the middle of a fight, face swolled of tears, nose running. She was sad, hurt and worried. I was 19, a rebel teenager, sad, hurt, mad and totally irrational. I just sitted quietly listening to it, tears dripping down my face. I couldn't answer it, too much happened, too much to take on, my mind couldn't come out with an answer.

I'm 24 now, but I do feel like I aged 20 years since that. But now, I was able to answer her, rationally and she could see that. I was proud that I was able to stand for myself and rationalize through a particularly emotional situation. I was proud to see how mature I became. And I was happy that for the first time, I could talk like an adult with my mom. I didn't scream, cried, cursed or went to my room.

I told my mom that I understood it. But she needed to let go. This dramatic and hard pregnancy was always going to be our story and our bond, but she brought me to this world to be part of the world. Like every parent, she had all the right to worry about me, forever. But that was it. There is a limit for everything, even for love and care. She could search about bipolar disorder, she could spent nights awake thinking about me or worrying about me. But I was 24 now. I'm an adult, grown woman, not a child anymore. And in the end of the day, the treatment or medication, is my decision to make. It's my life, my mind and my choices. I understand that she wanted to share her worries with me, but it wasn't making any good, it would make us fight and it would make me stressed and sad. But I told her that this time, she should talk to my doctors, to shake her worries away and understand, really understand what was going on. She agreed.

I know I seem so mature writing about that,  but this was a conversation through text messages. In reality I was at home panicking, texting my best friend desperately while taking clonazepam and wanting to disappear, hide, run, anything that would make me not face my mom for a year or so. 

Later that day, both my psychiatrist texted me saying my mom reached out and they wanted to make sure I was fine with that. I say I was.

I did panic again and went to Starbucks just to not see my mom when she arrived home.

When I arrived home I was surprised : my mom didn't brought the subject of earlier. It's like the bipolar conversation never happened because she heard me, she understood that talking about it made me worst.

I was so relieved. My at home nightmare was over. 

That night I slept peacefully and woke up today with one  less thing to worry about.

But there are still 812018 worries going on.