A Hard Pill to Swallow.

I didn’t really notice anything manic about my personality until after I graduated high school. Even though, looking back now, there were definite traits shown earlier on. Nothing major, just a few self-inflicted, dramatic, “poor me” events. But like I said, the real intense stuff happened after I wasn’t in the restraints of grade school any longer. I was beginning to THINK people were starting to view me as an adult. But that was only because I was this selfish know-it-all who was extremely full of herself. I was so far away from being a “real” young adult. I had no clue.

The first thing I could really trace the dawn of my illness back to was having my heart broken for the very first time. It’s a rare thing to end up with your first true love for ever so mostly everybody experiences heartbreak for the first time, but I handled it like an asshole. I acted out. I was mad at the world. I lost all respect for myself. All because I thought that was my only shot at love. I thought I’d never settle down with someone or even have another lengthy, meaningful relationship ever again. And boy did that ring true for a while. A few flings and wannabe relationships that begun with fireworks but burned out quickly and dramatically. I absolutely rebelled against my parents. Some of the meanest things I’ve ever said in my life were things I said to my mother during my teen years. There are things that I don’t even understand how they forgave me for. I’d like to blame it all on the guy I was with at the time but I know that isn’t logical. However, the lies, distrust and degrading behavior absolutely played a part in this era. I was being dishonest to myself so often that it ended up overflowing into other parts of my life. I put all my eggs into one selfish, controlling basket and made a lot of changes to myself and my life around me because of it. The only time I felt “normal” was when I was with him because he brought the monster out in me and I was convinced that was who I truly was. I believed that was where I was meant to be. I almost remember feeling kind of ill throughout it all. But I was slightly addicted to it. I felt a rush when he was around but boy did I feel that crash when he wasn’t.

After like a year and a half of emotional whiplash, manipulation, confusion and mild danger, THAT torture was put to an end by a new, different type of torture. A not-so-bad type of torture. One that involved another person just like me. But when you’re like me, you need to stay far away from people like me. It creates turmoil. I began feeling like I was missing out on the great things in life. I reached my later teen years and hadn’t really had many party experiences. Hadn’t had much of a run in with alcohol at all really. But I thought I needed to. So, I rebelled once again but this time, my parents weren’t the main target, he was. I’m not, by any means, regretting our parting. But I do know that I didn’t take the best approach at it. I still was a terrible person, but with less police activity.
This next chapter of my life was a lot less traditional starting off. It felt like danger. But like danger I was aware of so it didn’t seem as scary. My parents were still shaking their heads in their empty nest but we became less like enemies as the days went on. I got a taste of the party world and immediately knew that it wasn’t my thing. I still continued to find myself in these dark, loud outdoor settings though. The ones that are foreign and primarily lit up by a huge, center stage bonfire. The ones that were miles away from my comfort zone. Then the depression kicked in. I was so obviously trying to be someone I wasn’t. Plus, I was getting older so naturally my brain matured and I started coming to a hell of a lot more conclusions. They ere becoming more and more rational and educated too. I think it was during this time that, for the first time, I was doubting my destination in life. Did I make the right decision? How do I know for sure? Why aren’t my parents being picky over my friends anymore? I’m not ready for this!! So depressed. So confused. So lost. I made so many wrong turns during the first few months of my new, fragile, calf-like independence. I didn’t necessarily end up at the wrong check point because of it though. Sometimes the detour I created just prolonged and complicated the route. This is the time of my life that I cried the most. My illness had gone so long with being so poorly treated that it was slowly catching up to me. My thoughts began to take control of my body and I wasn’t able to stop the impulsiveness of them.

Then, it was March 7th and I was at a local bar. The newness and excitement of another Spring season was in the air. The season was barely among us but was just enough to make people start emerging from their winter long hibernation. It was starting to stay lighter out later. I remember this because the bar still illuminated with natural light after I had put in a full day’s work, went home and changed out of my business casual attire and had dinner. It was even still fairly light out during the time that I left the bar in a huff, with a blood stream full of poison. I got home and realized I was alone. I obviously knew no one else was going to be there because I just left him sitting at the bar with his friends (who were probably calling me a bitch by now). But, I felt really alone. A kind of alone I never felt before. A kind of alone that made me feel like it wasn’t necessary for me to be around anymore. It took a bit of debating before I reached a really scary moment. But I reached it. Knowing I had really fucked up and immediately feeling the fog roll over me, I called the very person who gave me life. I told her that I just made some very serious moves toward ending that life. I would later find out that if she hadn’t come flying to my rescue, my body would have absorbed the affects all at one and my “serious moves” would have led me to what I was trying to commit. After the poking of the needles that contained life-saving liquids, the thick textured charcoal laying dense in my belly, the interviews that my family and I had to pass and the judgmental looks on everyone’s faces, I was released. My sorrows and condition came with me though.

For a while, I was dangerously close to losing everything I knew, everything that was important to me. I quickly realized that I hadn’t just hurt myself during this. It has taken a lot of cleaning up and even more apologies to get me where I am today, almost a year later. It has taken counseling, trials and errors of several medication regimens (which I know will never fully be straightened out), trust and a whole lot of faith. I’m nowhere near where I want to be, but I’m miles away from where I was on that Spring day. I have an ideal relationship with my parents and I’m constantly putting effort toward other, also improved, important relationships in my life. The once, very rocky, very questionable roller-coaster-like relationship with my current boyfriend has done a complete 180 degree turn. We still fight our way through the thick forest-like years of our young twenties, but the difference is we are now fighting together. Well, not always together, but definitely within arm’s reach. Education played a huge role in this much needed turn around, too. Learning about what is wrong with me helped me recognize the signs so I could somewhat hunker down before an attack. Prepare myself to cushion the fall a little bit. I’ve learned that medication will most likely be a daily part of my everyday life, for the rest of my life. And although that may be a literal “hard pill to swallow”, it’s just the reality. This just goes to show the importance of balanced medications, counseling, healthy relationships and self-love. You don’t have to (and shouldn’t) wait for a potentially lethal event to realize that you need help. If you even have the slightest inclination that something might be wrong, it is so worth getting it checked out. It could save your life.

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