Hospital stay

Well I'm back home. (Not that any of you knew I was in the hospital.) This time I stayed 11 days to make certain that my medications were working together. You know you've been inpatient too many times when the psych ward begins to feel like a second home.

Everyone in the psych ward is different - age, race, religion - yet we are all dealing with a mental illness. It is such a blessing to be around others who are facing the same challenges. During this stay I would often observe the way that being together gave us strength. A 65 year old granny chatting with a 19 year old skater. A 40 year old Muslim talking about God with a 31 year old Christian. We are all equal, we all need help. I wish the rest of the world could have this experience. (But who's going to admit to having a mental illness?)

I've got a schedule, and it includes staying awake all day long. I'm going to the gym every weekday. I do chores and make meals. I'm functioning again. I'm doing my part to control this disease, and the medicine does the rest. For now, the new medication is working with me - let's hope it lasts for a long while.

Ode to a Disease

Bipolar, you have given me such great pains.

Scares and stresses, moods and messes.

You have left me for dead with only my breath to save my body.

You will me to fight with the public, when I don't want to fight with anyone.

Your desire would be that I hide away, shelter and shudder.

Bipolar disease you are a disease which pleases to make my mind like a sieve - in with the new thoughts, keeping the horrendous thoughts to swirl around, and letting the good thoughts pass through, never touching ground. Oh, disease, you freeze me when I want to decide, you place a space between those I want to touch, you erase feelings of joy, love and devotion. You eat my soul, piece by piece. And I am sweet, so you enjoy me.

Biolar II Disorder

Part of the reason I decided to start blogging is to use this blog as an outlet for my bipolar condition. It's part of me that I can't change, as much as I'd like to. So this is the first post about how much I dislike being bipolar.

It has put a distance between me and my family and friends. People think that this disease is a dangerous one for them to be around, although the real danger is to me. SO STOP FREAKING OUT, Y'ALL. (In case you're reading this.)

My kids, my precious children, see the difference between the Well Mama and the Sick Mama, and it breaks my heart. Both Anne and Jean were telling stories today about made-up characters. Both stories involved a mom who took lots of naps. Damn you, depression! And anytime someone is sick, my baby, Ruby, says they have to "go to the hospital." There's been too much of that around my house. Danny, my middle child, is hard to figure out. But in his rough and tumble way, I know he knows that I'm not altogether there for him.

My sweet, poor husband, Gaby, has been in the trenches since this past Summer. He's taken care of me, the kids, the house, his 60+ hour a week job, and everything in between. Essentially, he's taken our wedding vows out of the closet and used them to the fullest. He deserves more than his name tattooed on my arm to show how much I appreciate what he's done for me.

One day we'll get this disease under control, and I'll be able to resume a normal life. But now you know why "Being Rachael" is so hard.