Thursday, December 16, 2010

Times may have changed, but my illness has not.

Mania. It's something that I deal with often. My manic episodes come from seemingly no where, but they hit hard. I have a much harder time controlling my actions when I'm manic, and that's something that very few people who aren't professionals understand. To date, only my boyfriend. And because he understands so well he's titled as an "enabler." Annoying. (The thing is, that man is a disabler. Haha! But he isn't an enabler at all.) My manic episodes often have a trigger. Besides a very common one being stress, they can be triggered by exhaustion and medications. For me it often feels like people can trigger them. Generally males that act like they really care about me. It sucks, and I hate it, so I tend to not hang around guys that much. Except that when they worm themselves into my life, things tend to go wrong.

I have a boyfriend who I love with all my heart and soul, and when I'm in a "balanced mood" I would rather die than even think of touching another person sexually. Except when I'm manic I do things that go against the very foundation of my being. (Luckily I haven't been afforded most of the opportunities yet, but things like drinking and smoking. These are things my amazing boyfriend has protected me from, because he can often recognize my mania.) But I've screwed up, more than I would want to admit, and he knows these instances. He understands it's my illness ruining my life. But how can he heal if he cannot blame? I never asked for this. He didn't either. The main thing that runs through my head is "What would his mother think?" I can only imagine she'd hate me. I know most of the time I do. Suicide is a thought that crosses my mind at least once a day. I often feel as though Death is a constant companion.. Just waiting on the day that I get so exhausted from it all. When I'm in a manic episode I just go go go. I do things and never think about the consequences, but when I finally return to a normal mood I get so down because of the things that I've done. Things I normally wouldn't/shouldn't have done. How can I live with myself when I keep screwing up so badly? And now I'm away from the only person who ever truly grasped the concept that sometimes I am unable to think rationally.

Recently I started talking to a person more. This person was younger than me and his behavior caused me a lot of stress. I considered this person to be like a brother. And told them so, and I should have walked away when they said they were in love with me. But how could I? Someone (other than my seemingly biased boyfriend) actually gave a damn about someone as worthless as me. Someone who was semi-close to my age didn't care about my illness. And things got out of hand. This person didn't know how to recognize my episodes and things were said. Things I tried to fix whenever I realized. But the truth is, I was manipulated in a lot of ways. I should have given them the boot, but I couldn't. They made me think they needed my help. Told me that no one cared about them, and that they hated life.. Hinted at suicide often. And I know how that feels, so how could I abandon them. Well, their parents found out, and it looked like I was the villain. I don't exactly believe that I wasn't. In my mind I'm always the villain. All I heard was "You're older, you know better." Well how do you explain to someone that you TRIED? That they took advantage of your mania? I'm starting to realize that there is no help for me. Even in this house. I listen to lectures about things I know, but things that don't make any sense to me when I'm manic.

This week has been one of the worst. With the events going on with that person and our families, I ruin everything. My parents were forced to chose between their friend and their daughter. Seems like an easy choice, but what do you say when your daughter royally effed up? I deserved whatever punishment they bestowed on me, hell, I even welcomed it.

And all I have to blame is my mania. Even though somewhere deep inside I know I'm not exactly responsible, I blame myself. What does it sound like when someone blames their illness? Like their not taking responsibility for their actions. What type of person is that? I don't want to be that type of person, even though I know I did my best. I have these emotions raging inside of me. I'm starting to realize that there is no help. No medicine, no doctor, no dog can fix me. And the dog helps the most it feels, but everyday is a BATTLE with my family. Every little mistake Austin makes is scrutinized. He's a DOG not perfect. All I ever hear about is how the ADA hasn't certified him. I know the law, but who listens to me? This battle is a burden that I have to carry alone. It feels like eventually Death will win this battle, and he's rubbing his hands together saying "Patience is a virtue."

Whitney and Austin

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