As I take this turn in talking again about being bipolar, I’ve been thinking what it means to be somewhat stable and I’ve found it is hard to describe.

I think before I was treading water and sinking, while now I’m staying afloat with a life-preserver.  It still takes a lot of time and effort to reach shore, but once I do it is like a miracle being on solid ground. Then as quickly as that miracle happens things get ify and I find myself going deeper and deeper into the water again where I keep drifting.  Rinse and repeat.

I’m finding that I’m not fighting for my life all of the time, whether it is drowning in feelings or emotions.  And I’m not white knuckling it, hanging on for any passing branch to grab on to.  My life-preserver is my medications, doctors, dogs, cats and hubby.  Before it didn’t matter that I had all of that because my medications were so low that I always hanging on for dear life.  I didn’t know if I wanted to live or die more.  I couldn’t stand the way I felt.  It was the increase my doctor and I took this last November that made the greatest turn around.

And I’m still stunned by it.

Sometimes I just sit there and feel the blood lightly pump through my veins.  I’m alive.  I’m alive.  I’m alive.  And I still can’t believe it.  My life matters.  I matter to others.  And all these years I never had the chance to feel that.  To know that.  To live it.

Out of all of the things that have happened to me, I can’t believe I am still alive and if it means taking extra medicine to get there, then so be it.  As I’ve played with my meds and my mind for many years scathing by on as little as possible and calling it OK because I was so scared to be bipolar and did know about PTSD that I only made things worse for myself and the ones I loved.  I couldn’t handle being overweight and having restless leg syndrome and a dry mouth and body.  I was too ashamed to admit I was having more problems than not and the trouble I was having.  I was too ashamed to admit the torture and abuse I’d suffered because I was less than.  And being a recovering drug addict, the last thing I wanted was more pills.

The damage that was done with manias, depression, and psychotic breaks brought me to my knees and to the point that I had to have more medication to be able to function at a floating level.

And for now, I will take it.  Because I am worth it!



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