Well here I am again writing here on this site, which is rarely a good sign. This post is more of a suicidal rant. A release of pent up feeling and frustration. What is clear to me is I have no answers it just seems like history is repeating its self yet again.
One thing I can say categorically is that Bipolar has ruined my life over and over again. I do not know how to live with this affliction. I can not make peace with it, I can find no common ground with it. The best I can do is accept it looming there and keep taking my medication. Which some times seems like an effort in futility in of it self.
The holy grail of lasting stability eludes me, the medications I have been on have at times worked a while and I have built a life for myself in those times. Pursued my goals and tried to make up for all that lost time in a depressive states. But the precursor to ruin is always the same, its either a sudden hate of being medicated, realising I am going through the motions of normality. That inside regardless I am creatively dead. That my existence is some how muted, bereft of pangs of joy or justified sorrow. So I go off my meds just to feel something again, to lift me out of the tired foggy feeling and find my creative energy once more. I have full insight as to what will occur. Over the years I have realised it is just not worth it in the end. Not for my sake but due to the stupid things I do. The upset I cause those around me.
But even if I commit to staying medicated there comes a time that it starts to wear out, the process of even finding the right combination in the first place having taken years. I build a tolerance, the dose is increased, until it becomes clear I can gain no further benefit and the side effects are just not worth it. Then it is back to being a human guinea pig trying this and that and suffering through the process.
I am not sure if I am in hell sometimes, as this seems to occur at the worst possible time. When I am at the hight of a loving relationship, or striving for my degree. When I am surrounded by a circle of close friends. Or have finally found some direction in my life.
Then the depression returns, with it my bitterness and frustration resurface. All I have worked hard at is left in tatters. As it all just slides away, I get behind. I become unpleasant to be around I start to feel I am toxic to others and ruminate on this next assortment of failures. I sabotage those around me who care driving them away. I am aware I am doing it and inwardly am screaming at myself to stop, what the hell are you doing? But its like having a war with myself I both try to cling onto what I have and destroy it at the same time. I ask for help, but also reject that help as I wrestle with my inner dialogue. Suicidal ideation claws at me while I also fight to keep my resolve and remind myself this will pass. But with each subsequent return to this state I feel I get weaker. My piled up failures to achieve anything of worth grow and become fodder for my critical mind to bury me under. Soon I am spiralling down towards a conclusion I can not argue with.
I am aware that this will pass in time, that things will get better. But that is of little comfort. Simply because I know at some point I will return to this state. What new damage will I have caused? I would like to be optimistic that I will have lasting stability, but time and experience tells me otherwise.
I have had a multiple of hospitalisations now. Each has robbed me of my dignity and my faith in any kind of help. I would even consider what passes for help here to be laughable. I am tired of being patronised and medicated into submission. Of pointless groups that cannot see that what they are peddling is full of logical fallacies. Its the equivalent of telling some one who is brain damaged to stop being brain damaged a moment so they can better learn to cope with being brain damaged. I am sick of the platitudes, callousness and blatant absurdity of this so called system. No I don't want to colour in like a four year old or do flower arranging!
I am tired of people caring about me. When I am ill it is so painful to see the look of helpless concern. It is agonising to see my father fighting to get me help, when inwardly I know it will achieve little other than to soothe his immediate fears. Some times by this point it is too late and with a ferocity that disgusts me I turn on him. How dare he force me to continue existing like this! I try to turn his love to hate, but it always fails and I am then left with the guilt of what I have put him through yet again. I am terrible son, I forget his birthday and cause him undue stress when I cant even be bothered to answer the phone.
I have agonised over talking to him. Telling him to just let me go, I want some peace I dont want to try any more. Its just too painful. I want to some how express this level of suffering. Make him understand why it is better this way.
Its a nice idea to think I am not a burden, but I have been to mental health carers forums and they all say the same thing, how tiring it is. How little help or respite there is. How it is hard to see their loved ones endure day after day. When some one dies they usually make reference to them being at peace now. That they are not suffering any longer.
I have just hit the point where I am asking for help and rejecting it at the same time as what is the point any way? If history is anything to go by I may as well just laugh hysterically for all the good it will do. I do not want a life of transitory wellness, of just coping and living day by day. It is frankly just not good enough. The longer I live the more damage I do. Be it to former friends or loved ones. I just don't want to do this any more.
One thing I can say categorically is that Bipolar has ruined my life over and over again. I do not know how to live with this affliction. I can not make peace with it, I can find no common ground with it. The best I can do is accept it looming there and keep taking my medication. Which some times seems like an effort in futility in of it self.
The holy grail of lasting stability eludes me, the medications I have been on have at times worked a while and I have built a life for myself in those times. Pursued my goals and tried to make up for all that lost time in a depressive states. But the precursor to ruin is always the same, its either a sudden hate of being medicated, realising I am going through the motions of normality. That inside regardless I am creatively dead. That my existence is some how muted, bereft of pangs of joy or justified sorrow. So I go off my meds just to feel something again, to lift me out of the tired foggy feeling and find my creative energy once more. I have full insight as to what will occur. Over the years I have realised it is just not worth it in the end. Not for my sake but due to the stupid things I do. The upset I cause those around me.
But even if I commit to staying medicated there comes a time that it starts to wear out, the process of even finding the right combination in the first place having taken years. I build a tolerance, the dose is increased, until it becomes clear I can gain no further benefit and the side effects are just not worth it. Then it is back to being a human guinea pig trying this and that and suffering through the process.
I am not sure if I am in hell sometimes, as this seems to occur at the worst possible time. When I am at the hight of a loving relationship, or striving for my degree. When I am surrounded by a circle of close friends. Or have finally found some direction in my life.
Then the depression returns, with it my bitterness and frustration resurface. All I have worked hard at is left in tatters. As it all just slides away, I get behind. I become unpleasant to be around I start to feel I am toxic to others and ruminate on this next assortment of failures. I sabotage those around me who care driving them away. I am aware I am doing it and inwardly am screaming at myself to stop, what the hell are you doing? But its like having a war with myself I both try to cling onto what I have and destroy it at the same time. I ask for help, but also reject that help as I wrestle with my inner dialogue. Suicidal ideation claws at me while I also fight to keep my resolve and remind myself this will pass. But with each subsequent return to this state I feel I get weaker. My piled up failures to achieve anything of worth grow and become fodder for my critical mind to bury me under. Soon I am spiralling down towards a conclusion I can not argue with.
I am aware that this will pass in time, that things will get better. But that is of little comfort. Simply because I know at some point I will return to this state. What new damage will I have caused? I would like to be optimistic that I will have lasting stability, but time and experience tells me otherwise.
I have had a multiple of hospitalisations now. Each has robbed me of my dignity and my faith in any kind of help. I would even consider what passes for help here to be laughable. I am tired of being patronised and medicated into submission. Of pointless groups that cannot see that what they are peddling is full of logical fallacies. Its the equivalent of telling some one who is brain damaged to stop being brain damaged a moment so they can better learn to cope with being brain damaged. I am sick of the platitudes, callousness and blatant absurdity of this so called system. No I don't want to colour in like a four year old or do flower arranging!
I am tired of people caring about me. When I am ill it is so painful to see the look of helpless concern. It is agonising to see my father fighting to get me help, when inwardly I know it will achieve little other than to soothe his immediate fears. Some times by this point it is too late and with a ferocity that disgusts me I turn on him. How dare he force me to continue existing like this! I try to turn his love to hate, but it always fails and I am then left with the guilt of what I have put him through yet again. I am terrible son, I forget his birthday and cause him undue stress when I cant even be bothered to answer the phone.
I have agonised over talking to him. Telling him to just let me go, I want some peace I dont want to try any more. Its just too painful. I want to some how express this level of suffering. Make him understand why it is better this way.
Its a nice idea to think I am not a burden, but I have been to mental health carers forums and they all say the same thing, how tiring it is. How little help or respite there is. How it is hard to see their loved ones endure day after day. When some one dies they usually make reference to them being at peace now. That they are not suffering any longer.
I have just hit the point where I am asking for help and rejecting it at the same time as what is the point any way? If history is anything to go by I may as well just laugh hysterically for all the good it will do. I do not want a life of transitory wellness, of just coping and living day by day. It is frankly just not good enough. The longer I live the more damage I do. Be it to former friends or loved ones. I just don't want to do this any more.
