If a cynic speaks in the woods…

In my real life, I’ve mentioned before that I tend not to speak of my mood disorder even when well-intentioned people ask how I’ve been. It’s the feeling of not wanting to “bring anyone down” mixed with more than a little “they don’t really care about me” that keeps me silent. It’s been awhile since I’ve written a post to this small blog that no one I personally know is aware of. It’s been many weeks. Why is that? This was supposed to be my safe space.

I see now that my reticence comes from a deeper place. If I don’t even want to burden the faceless computer screen and the few anonymous readers, what does that say about me? I *think* it speaks to a bit of hopelessness (if one can be a bit hopeless). I *think* it says, my sense of self is lacking. I must admit, the inevitability of this disorder has worn me down over the last fourteen years. I have become a
bipolar cynic!

I follow several groups on Facebook that feature bipolar news items and bloggers. I hate to say it but I really feel pretty annoyed at all the hearts and rainbows type blogs: don’t give up, I found my cure. (I actually wrote an article about the benefits of ECT and later regretted it). I can’t help thinking, let’s see some data. How long have you felt this way? How many months?

My own current treatment plan involves a great deal of walking outdoors, Ativan to sleep, birth control to regulate my hormones and a boatload of specific vitamins. This is the first time since 2000 that I haven’t had a cocktail that includes mood stabilizers and antidepressants. I actually feel good. That’s not to say happy all the time. For me, feeling in control of my mind is good. When I am up, I know the next day I probably shouldn’t plan any play dates. I know when I am down, I probably should go for a walk. I see direct results and don’t feel bogged down by side effects.

I can not advise anyone to hold on, here is the cure. I can not even rest in the security that I have found what works. THERE IS NO REST in policing one’s own mind. This seems to be helping for now. I’m pretty worried about making it through another Northeast winter. I get by on brutal honesty (with myself) about my moods & motivations. And my honesty today is that, I have not been writing because I no longer have a voice. I see it is crucial that I reclaim my voice. I have a right to speak the truth. Everyone does, even when — especially when, the truth is not perfect. Thanks to anyone who reads my words, my voice.