A Place to Tell My Story with Bipolar Disorder

That is a screen shot of my ‘bipolar blog’, because I haven’t been writing here I added yet another blog to write. Clearly a manic move.

I started a special section of this blog, set it aside and gave it its own look, for writing about my life with bipolar disorder.  It’s brand new, (only 2 posts) but I want to grow it.  I have spent a bit of time going back through blog posts from the past, reading through my old journals, and seeing so many signs I couldn’t see then.  I want to post some of those writings there, along with my thoughts about those episodes.

The thing is, if only I had known someone else who was bipolar, who could spot the symptoms the signs and said something.  If only someone had shared their story and I could have recognized myself in their story, maybe I wouldn’t have waited so long to get help.  So maybe, in telling my story, someone will see themselves or someone they love, and seek answers, get help.

Welcome to My Life with Bipolar Disorder

My love hate relationship with my body Part II

For Part I of this series, go here.

After my first baby, the rules of my control game changed. It was no longer about controlling what I did or didn’t eat.  It was all of a sudden all about getting back into my own damn clothes and the numbers on the scale.  My son was born in October.  By Thanksgiving I was back in my own jeans (size 8 ) and by Christmas I was back in my skinny jeans (size 5).  I was fueled by the envy of everyone around me who was amazed at how quickly I had gotten back to my pre-baby self.  I lived on the attention.

I spent the next 13 years playing this game.  My weight fluctuated between 115 and 120. I was still just as obsessed with the numbers on the scale and the numbers on the labels of my jeans.  And yet, every time I got pregnant, the games stopped, but started right back up again, the day I came home from the hospital.

By the third go round (after the birth of Newt) I recognized the pattern. I knew in my head that it was unhealthy, and yet I was helpless to let go of the control, and the attention it garnered from my friends.  It wasn’t long after Newt was born that my marriage to the girls’ dad changed.  To be honest, I always had a difficult time with PPD (thanks BPD) and their dad had his own version of PPD.  The fights were epic and our relationship was out of control.  The one thing I could control? My food intake.  And I controlled it with drill sergeant precision.  The numbers on the scale reflected just how happy or unhappy I was in my relationship.

I wasn’t happy in my marriage.  It wasn’t good.  So I sought my happiness in my weight.  I believed, wrongly, that if I could just get down to 100 pounds life would magically be perfect, fairy tale happy.  I starved myself.  I popped diet pills, I used laxatives.  I stopped just short of throwing up but only because I *hate* with a passion that burns brighter than a thousand suns to throw up.  I had my limits.  They were few, but I had them.

They day before I finally left the girls’ dad, I stepped on the scale and the number that day? 98 pounds.  I am 5’ 7”.  At this point? My size 3 jeans were hanging off of me.  I was wearing sweatshirts because I was always cold. I had no body mass to keep me warm.  That day?  I stood on the scale, saw 98 and just stared.  I had won the game!  I was under 100 pounds for the first time since I started this game all those years ago!  I had reached my ultimate goal.  I was winning.  The competitive voice in my head said “Way to go.. now lets see HOW FAR under 100 you can go!”.  The reasonable voice in my head said “Look you’re unhappy here. This is proof that this relationship will kill you.  Get out.  Save yourself and your kids.”

I listened to reason.

I left.

But the games didn’t stop.

I allowed myself to eat and put on enough weight to get above 100 pounds, but just barely.  I couldn’t give up all that I had gained (or lost as the case may be) but I couldn’t survive weighing less than 100 pounds.  Also?  When everyone you know is expressing grave concern about your weight you kinda can’t ignore it or them.  So you do the bare minimum, whatever it takes to get them to leave you alone, without giving up the game.

That was seven years ago.

Five years ago this August I met Brian.  Four years ago next month, I moved to be closer to him, get away from the girls’ dad, and give the girls (and me) a better life. I was still playing the games.  Food was still the enemy.  Brian’s family? Loved to eat.  They loved to cook, especially his dad.  And they ate real food.  Steaks, shrimp, crab, lobster, pasta, biscuits and gravy.  And drink? Margaritas or rum and coke, Mimosas or Bloody Marys for breakfast.  And the cheesecake.  Oh god the cheesecake.

I played my games for a while, but his family? Made it their mission to put some weight on me.  And when faced with all that food, all that glorious, fabulous food it’s hard to play the game.  Then Brian said “I love you.” and then promised me bling if I just gained some weight, and promised to love me for ever if I would just stop playing the games and get healthy.  And did I mention the cheesecake?

Slowly but surely the food, alcohol, Brian and his family won out over my rules.  I was safe, I was secure, and I was loved.  It was ok to eat.  And I ate.  And slowly, one by one, my outfits stopped fitting.  My jeans got too small, my shirts were too tight, and the numbers on the labels of my clothes got bigger and bigger.  There were days I would stand in the bathroom looking at my reflection crying for all I had lost (or gained…)  Crying because I had never seen myself at a normal healthy weight and I hated this ‘fat’ me.  Crying because I was losing the game I had played most of my life.  It was at these times Brian would tell me “I love you, and I love this, and you look wonderful, and healthy and please stop crying.”  I would tell myself it was enough. I would tell myself it was ok to be ‘fat’ because Brian loved me.

It wasn’t that long ago that I stood on the scale because absolutely nothing fit any more.  None of my clothes fit, I had started buying new clothes, with double digits on the labels.  The number on the scale? 160.  The only other time I had weighed anything close to 160, I was 8 months pregnant with a baby.  This time? There was no baby.  This time? I was fat.  Nobody commented on it. Brian’s family still told me I looked good. Brian still told me he loved me and the extra weight.  But that wasn’t enough. I didn’t love me.  I didn’t love the extra weight.  I had lost.

I knew I had to change things, but I also knew I couldn’t go back to my games again. I couldn’t go back to anorexia and lose the weight that way.  My girls are 11 and 14 now and they watch me.  They pay attention.  They would notice, they would see the games that I played and the dangerous ways I fought to lose the weight I so desperately hated.  I knew I had to change, but when you know there’s a cheesecake in the fridge that his mom bought just because she knew I loved cheesecake, it’s hard to change.

When Brian and I broke up in December, all of a sudden the steaks, and pasta three nights a week went away. Suddenly there was no cheesecake calling my name before I went to bed each night.  Now, there would no longer be biscuits and gravy and bacon and eggs for breakfast every Sunday.  There would no longer be lazy days spent watching television in bed, eating and napping a lazy Sunday away.  And without much effort at all, 30 pounds fell away.

I’m still not happy.  I am happier than I was at 160, but I’m not where I want to be.  I am playing the numbers game, but not obsessively like I did years ago.  Frankly, I like food, and I’m just too lazy to play those stupid games.  This time, I am watching what I eat and not eating nearly as much as I used to.  Just this weekend, since the weather finally warmed up, and we’re only a couple of blocks from the school, the girls and I went to the track and walked around it. That is something I can do every night.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss the game.  There are times I wish I had that kind of self control again, but I know this time? I have eyes on me, I have daughters that I influence and I don’t want them to live the life I lived with anorexia.

Questions of my heart

It’s very hard, when you put so much of your relationship on-line, when it all goes bad, to deal with the break up in the public eye.

I know that I don’t have to put anything on line about the break up.  Except that right after he broke up with me (via text, no less) he changed his relationship status on FB, therefore forcing my hand, and I had to acknowledge it.

And because I love(d) him, I asked that the bashing of him stop.  He (along with his son, our friends, his family) would see all that you wrote to me on my FB wall, in the comments.  And yes, I understand and appreciate your sentiments; I knew it would be better for everyone involved, in real life at least, if the bashing of him didn’t happen in public.

Keeping true to that has, at times, been difficult.

There have been days that I have sat down to write a scathing blog post reciting chapter and verse everything he did that pissed me off.  Maybe not at the time, but now, looking back pissed me off.  Just because being pissed off is much easier.  All those feelings, all that passion I felt for him, doesn’t just go away, doesn’t just turn itself off.  So, instead of channeling that passion into love, it’s easier, safer, and less painful to channel it into anger.

But it’s not fair to him.

Or his son.

Or our friends.

Or his family.

They did nothing wrong, and they don’t deserve to be caught in the cross fire, and don’t need to see this battle waged on the pages of the internet.

Brian wouldn’t wage it online anyway.

He would call me, or text me, or just turn his back and turn off my phone, and go quietly away in the middle of the night.

It’s hard to find other things to write about when your heart wants to pour itself out all over the place all the time.  It’s hard to sit down and write about something, anything else, besides the break up.

There are more than a few people I know, based on our history, think that this is just a phase for him.  That in a few weeks, he’ll miss me, he’ll come around, he’ll want to reconcile.

I’m not so sure.  Some days, I would agree with them. Other days? Not on your life.

Today?

One of those days without hope.

No, that’s not true.  Every day is full of hope.  Just today, there is no hope of any sort of reconciliation.

I’m ok with that.

And see, that’s where I am.

Taking this time (however long, or short) away from him, to figure out where I am, where I want to be, how to get there.

And most importantly, what being “there” (where ever there is) looks and feels like.

Do I want him along for the journey?

Do I want to take him on that journey with me?

Do I dig down deep inside me, in a place I have never found, but I’m sure is there, and find the strength and courage to say “I love you, more than you know, but it’s time we stop hurting each other.”

Or is that taking the easy way out?  Walking away without talking about our problems and trying to find a solution?

Or is this the solution?

Reviewing and Resoluting

And yes, according to Ali Martel, resoluting is to in fact a word. A word that she made up. And now, I am borrowing it.

I started typing this post with 3.5 hours left in 2010, but then the neighbor’s daughter (she’s 10) came over and said “We’re partying!! Come over!!”.  The girls and I (and a bottle of wine. Like the first bottle of wine I have ever bought for myself because I don’t know wine.  I know tequila.) went across the sidewalk and brought in the New Year with new friends.  She is going to make being single so much easier.  ThankyouElmo.

So, back to the reviewing and resoluting.

2010 was a year sort of like any other year.  It had 12 months, 52 weeks, 365 days.  Some days were slow, boring, yawn worthy.  Others full of excitement and laughter and zeal (does anyone use that word anymore? Did anyone ever? And why am I?)

In April, Brian mentioned THE RING.  I believed him then.  We all know how that turned out.

In July I put another year between me and 40.

Over the course of the year I vented out of the day-in-the-life-of-me style of writing and actually wrote a few posts in which I voiced an opinion about things going on in the world around me.  I like to say I am an idiot when it comes to politics and I’m not afraid to show it.

In October, I revealed why my summer mostly sucked.

Also in October?  I realized a dream of mine.  I, along with a group of amazing other women bloggers, became contributors at Buy-Her.com. My first review was well received and getting to write with my friend Britt, is well, a dream come true for me.

In November I moved out of the hell hole the girls and I had been living in, into a great new duplex that I am totally in love with and not embarrassed by at all.

From Thanksgiving on, my life seemed to be in full on free fall mode.  While one area of my life was thriving and improving and giving me hope, other areas of my life were falling apart and I was helpless to stop them.

So, today, I woke up in my own bed, (which is rare for me on weekends because we have always spent our weekends at Brian’s house. And now? I get to spend them at my house) in my house.  The start of a new year.  Not a do over, because you can’t undo what has already been done.  But a chance to regroup, and refocus.

And that refocusing and regrouping?  That’s where the resoluting comes in.

In 2011, I want to have more of a presence on line.  I am a self proclaimed attention whore, and well, I am going to write more.  I am going to pick up my camera more, I am going to explore me and the world around me more.

Today I have an overwhelming nesting instinct, to clean up this house, to finally get everything put away, all the pictures hung, and make it a real home, and not just a place we stay during the week.  Because obviously.

I am going to explore me, I am going to figure out where I stand on issues, what I think, voice my own opinions instead of parroting someone else’s, or keeping my mouth shut because I disagree with someone.

I am going to stretch my boundaries, I am going to step outside my comfort zone.  I am going to introduce myself to myself and get to know me a little better.

And I’m going to take all of you along for the ride.