itmightnotbeok

One of the most frustrating things about being someone who has manic and depressive episodes is that I have a hard time judging what true happiness and sadness look like. I can spend an entire day feeling great, only to dissociate in my bed that night, thinking about my every movement I made, trying to see the signs. I find myself overthinking joyful moments, worrying that I am not actually happy, but going into a manic episode. Being that I’m someone who does spend more of their time on the low end of emotions, feeling good can be an alarm for something more sinister. It’s something my therapist tries to discourage. To just allow myself to feel good, rather than searching for the source. But the damage I have done, the hurt that I have caused in times of mania, I find it impossible to not try and be proactive anymore.
So what AM I feeling?
Here’s what I know to be true for me:
Big changes can cause manic episodes.
I often will go into an episode to cover shame, or intense feelings that I am not at that time able to process.
Manic episodes lead me to be impulsive, have poor judgement, and make huge life changes very suddenly.
Manic episodes and relapse are BFF.
Currently:
I am going through a big change.
I should be having intense emotions over it.
But I’m not.
That, I feel like, is my biggest worry.
Last week I was more productive, more positive, more at peace than I have felt in a long time.
I spent so much time with my kids. We crafted, we baked, we cooked, we had movie nights. We all slept in the same bed. We ate chocolate and laughed and just felt at ease.
I am confused.
Am I really that disconnected so soon that I would feel more joy than I feel sorrow? That I would feel peace rather than chaos?
Or am I covering those emotions without realizing it?
I haven’t had high levels of energy. I still have slept in, gone to bed early and taken tons of naps. I have made absolutely no decisions other than cutting my hair. I have had no desire to be impulsive or to invite more disfunction into my life. And I haven’t relapsed, or had an urge to.
Instead of the intense happiness and energy that mania can bring,
I feel a slow joy. I feel calm rather than chaos. I feel clear headed. Most importantly, as a defense for this hopefully being real, I feel no shame.
I have nothing to generate shame. If anything, I am proud of myself.
Maybe the hard emotions are hiding, or maybe I already spent the last few months feeling them.
Time will tell.
This is a post to myself. A reminder to look back on in a few weeks and check in with where my heads at.
I spent the last few years being criticized for being an overthinker. I was told that I make my life harder by choosing to think about things more than required.
I can honestly tell you that most of my overthinking is involuntary, and if I could choose not to ruminate on terrible things I would give up A LOT to have that burden removed.
But this part, having to think about where my emotions are coming from, and if it’s cause for alarm, this part I choose. I choose to take responsibility for my mistakes, I choose to be prepared. Is it annoying and defeating to have to second guess a day full of laughter? Absolutely. But I am committed to never losing myself again, and so I choose to overthink.
So what am I feeling?
I really don’t know at this point. But I’m watching myself, I’m listening to myself, so that way I can enjoy this feeling for as long as it will last.
Maybe this is mania, maybe this is healing.
I’ll know in a few weeks.

I’m still wearing your earrings, your necklace, your bracelet.

“I finally broke you.”

I’m still here.

I said I would never go back to brown hair.

I said I would never allow myself to relapse.

I said I would never question my worth again.

I said I would never stop taking my meds.

I said I would never give up on the love I thought was mine.

I said I would never lose myself.

But

I let my roots grow too long.

I let myself fall back into old ways.

I let myself be overcome with shame and self doubt to the point of collapse.

I let myself “forget” how badly I needed my pills.

I let myself stop chasing a love that didn’t want to stay.

I let myself forget who I am.

I don’t recognize my reflection any more.

All I see is the roots. The inches of darkness that symbolize how long it’s been since I looked in the mirror. Since I cared about myself. The roots that stand out against my skin and my eyes. The roots I swore I would never let be this long again.

I don’t have anything left to give. My heart feels like it’s missing from my chest. It must be there, I can feel it beating. But the emotions I have been so proud of it producing, the love, the joy, the excitement, are gone. I only have a reminder of its presence because of the aching feeling of loss.

Are hearts responsible for the intensity of loneliness? Are they the ones that send us images of faces, and memories we wish we could forget?

If so, my heart is very much alive, just working a different job.

My roots have grown out so long I don’t know if there’s any saving it.

I said I would never have brown hair again. It symbolized a time I didn’t want to remember.

What happens when I want to forget the blonde too?

I said I would never have brown hair again.

I said I would never lose you.

Nothing seems to matter like it did.

Maybe I’ll go back to brown.

Maybe I will forget.

What do I do with the worry that is blocking my ability to think of anything else?

What do I do when my brain is reliving past conversations, past memories, past heartbreak like a track that never ends?

What do I do when a voice inside of me is screaming “You know what’s happening”?

What do I do when I can’t trust my thoughts to be my own?

What do I do when I worry I won’t be enough, but I worry that worrying will make that even more of a reality?

What do I do when I worry if I keep it all in I will lose myself, but if I let it out I will confuse and hurt people?

What do I do when everyone tells me to keep being strong and I don’t know how to respond?

Nothing is infinite.

One day, the strength will run out.

Shame has almost taken my life. It has eaten me from the inside out. It has caused me to check out from my current reality into one I made up. Shame has lead me to hide in the shadows because I couldn’t look into a mirror without feeling intense disgust. Shame has caused me to rot in bed for weeks at a time. Shame has caused me to push people away that were living reminders of my mistakes.

When I realized I wanted to kill myself in 2022, I checked myself into a facility. Shame reared its ugly head and woke me up from an episode that was created to protect me from who I had become. Shame told me that I couldn’t live with myself after the choices I had made. Shame told me I would never be worthy of acceptance ever again.

When I called my family at the facility, when I told them what I had been doing, I was in one of the lowest times of my life. No one knew the secrets I was hiding. No one knew the darkness and the sickness that was living inside of me.

I honestly don’t know what I was expecting. I don’t remember even thinking about it ahead of time. I am guilty of that. Speaking my mind on the spot when sometimes maybe I should be quiet.

I remember sitting in that cold wooden chair, leaning my head against the base of the phone because the cord was so short. I called my mother and my brother. I didn’t call my sister, at least not that day. The shame of disappointing her has always been the strongest. She is the one who has believed in me for as long as I can remember. She has always trusted me, encouraged me, seen me for the person I am. Maybe I felt like it would be harder for her because she has been the only one to always see me as good, and I didn’t believe I was good anymore.

So I called my mom, I called my brother. I told them why I was there. I told them I didn’t think I could live anymore with what I had done. That the feeling of shame was too great, and I didn’t see a future anymore.

I don’t know what I thought they would say.

But what they did say has never left me.

They cried with me. They told me they were sorry I had to go through what I had gone through. They didn’t tell me that just because it was my fault, my choice, that I deserved it. They told me I wasn’t that person. That they saw me, they knew me, and I was so much more. They told me my life was still worth living. That I deserved to have a future. That I made their lives better. They told me that I was forgiveable, without hesitation.

To this day I have never had a plan to commit suicide again. Passive thoughts maybe, but never actually considered it.

And I have been LOW. Lower than I was even then.

Shame lives in the darkness of our hearts. It lives in secrets. It lives in avoidance. My whole life had been revolving around my secrets for months, and the shame was feeding on it.

But when I told the truth, when I faced what I saw as unforgivable, and I was met with grace, it genuinely changed me. I was able to begin to let go of the shame. I was able to begin to heal from that moment on.

Do I feel remorse for what I have done? More than I can say. The guilt I carry for the decisions I’ve made in my life, especially the last few years, has stolen a peaceful nights sleep for as far back as when it started. I experience moments when sometimes the weight of knowing the people I hurt, the depths that I sank, feels overwhelming. But the shame, the shame I don’t carry anymore.

If my family, the people who I want to make proud of me the most, the people who have the greatest reasons to be ashamed of my actions, didn’t hesitate about my worth…If my family who knows the depths of my heart, knows all of my mistakes, could look at me as someone who deserves love, forgiveness and peace, then I could start to look at myself like that too.

I have made decisions since then and fallen back into the shame mindset. I have hurt people that I deeply loved. I have ruined my reputation and caused people to mistrust my character. I have betrayed people who showed me nothing but loyalty. And the shame has crept back up at times. It has caused me to black out into different realities to avoid looking at its face. But I came back, because of love. I woke up because someone I loved so much showed up, even when I didn’t deserve it. Shame has almost killed me. Forgiveness has saved me.

Being seen by the people I cherish as more than my mistakes, has put shame back in its cage.

It’s not easy to talk about the things we do behind closed doors. The things that keep us up at night. The things that no one knows.

Being honest, being accountable, accepting that my decisions have consequences, that I have an obligation to face, is terrifying.

I know there are things I have broken that I can’t repair. There are people who will never believe I am good enough again.

But that’s part of facing shame. Realizing that when we make mistakes, it might not be ok anymore.

But shame does not live with me. It’s not even allowed in my house anymore. There are people in my life that I trust, that believe I am worthy even still. That I am worthy of forgiveness. That I am not the sum of my mistakes. That I am strong for trying to do better even when I have fallen so far.

I believe them.

I accept that my actions will cause things to fall apart that I can’t put back together. That some people won’t see me the same ever again. That some people will move on from me. But that’s what it looks like to accept ourselves.

I can’t be excepted by myself, or anyone else, unless it includes the worst things I have done.

I am still working on being better, and I’ve made alot of progress. I regret so many things that I have done and have been done to me.

But I won’t be ashamed. I am still good. I am good enough. With all of it. I can’t think anything less. I won’t make it.

I choose this radical acceptance because it keeps me alive. It keeps me trying.

I have done what I have done, but I am not my mistakes.

I’m just someone trying the best she can.

I forgive myself for the mistakes I’ve made.

I admire myself for continuing to try everytime I have failed.

I am proud of myself for being an honest person.

I appreciate my ability to feel things deeply, and how I speak when it is easier to be silent.

I believe in my ability to never let someone silence me again. I believe in my ability to not let others opinions of me disfigure how I see myself.

I see the patience that I give, the forgiveness that I offer and the unconditional love that I show to the people in my life.

I respect myself enough to stand up to anyone, in any situation that makes my self worth feel threatened.

I recognize that I am a good mother, one that encourages her children to see themselves as more than what they can offer. I recognize that I have gone to extreme lengths to show my kids that I will never give up on them, and will fight for the life they deserve.

I cherish the desire I have to face the negative parts of me that need growth and work on them no matter what it takes. I cherish my ability to apologize, recognize when I’m wrong and make real changes to heal the damages I have caused.

I value my willingness to struggle rather than make decisions I know will be harmful to my mental health and to my family.

I am strong for keeping my heart open, when life has shown time and time again that it is painful and unsafe to do so.

I am confident in the way I look and the way I present myself.

I am grateful that I choose to be vocal instead of being lukewarm, and that I stand up for people who can’t stand up for themselves.

I am firm in the belief that I am worthy of love, friendship, forgiveness and respect.

Life has a way of beating us down, stripping us to our core and leaving us naked and ashamed.

I experience guilt for things I have done, but I refuse to experience shame.

I am a good person. I am a strong person. I am a person of integrity. I am full of love, emotion and generosity.

No matter how difficult this year has been, no matter how difficult this life has been, I will stand on these words. Nothing can take something away from me that they don’t have ownership of. I will continue to be proud of the life I have lived, and since no one has walked in my shoes, and no one has lived inside my head, no one can take that pride from me.