Yesterday was the first time I couldn’t keep a lid on and hide the depth of my feelings from The Boy.
I know he isn’t stupid, he’s a very mature early teen, we’ve told him I am Bipolar. . . but I felt so g u i l t y about it all yesterday.
Ok, so here’s what happened.
The Boy was out with my dad, as usual, having something to eat after school. They do this once a week and it’s a w o n d e r f u l thing. They have an amazing bond.
I sent a text to dad saying my back was giving me a lot of pain and I would be in bed when they arrive home. My head was also not up to having company, but I didn’t say that.
When they arrived home, they had also brought something home for me to eat. The Boy brought it upstairs and came to say hello. He went back downstairs for about 5 mins, then I heard the front door shut. I assumed they had nipped out again, but was surprised when The Boy told me that my dad had just left. He usually would shout up to say he was leaving, so I got the impression he was fed up with me being upstairs. The Boy said they didn’t get the text I sent saying my back was bad and I would be resting it upstairs.
I suddenly felt so paranoid that dad was in a mood with me and was angry and hated me. I started to panic. I started to cry in front of The Boy, despite trying my hardest not to. I asked him if he thought Grandad was in a mood with me. He said he thinks Grandad is a bit fed up with things and I should get back to work. This made me so upset.
But I pulled myself together, The Boy and I had a few jokes about it, then I managed to pretend I was alright.
I was also angry at what dad had said about me needing to buck up and get back to work. J u s t l i k e t h a t .
Does he not think I would love to do that?? I would love to feel part of the normal ‘working world’ and not see things through a filter.
I would love to be back at work and contributing for my family.
But I’m not.
I’m still trying to come to terms with being Bipolar and everything that comes with it. I’m still trying to get through the side effects of the meds. I shouldn’t have to p r o v e my diagnosis to people.
“Look everyone! Look how shitty I feel!
Oh, now look how good I feel!
My dad doesn’t believe I’m Bipolar. He is a retired Psychiatric nurse. He doesn’t like labels (fair enough). He’s worked in the old-school Psychiatric institutions, and doesn’t believe I am like the patients he looked after in the 1970’s, therefore I am not Bipolar.
Well no, maybe I’m not like them. I am fortunate enough to not have been to hospital with my symptoms. But I think I’ve come damn close to it before. We are all different and our symptoms manifest themselves in different ways.
Maybe its fear. Fear because he has looked after people in acute stages and doesn’t want his daughter to suffer that or face that. Or face the same stigma it used to have. Now I feel guilty. Rahhhh!!!!! I hate all the flipping between emotions!
Anyway, I spoke to The Boy and all was well. We had a lovely evening, but I had to try my hardest to hide my anxiety.
My dad also phoned as I left him a voicemail asking if he was upset with me being upstairs. He said he wasn’t and just wanted to get going and not hit rush hour traffic – hmmmm. I think he was bothered but knew I had been upset and didn’t want to say anything.
Sorry this hasn’t been an upbeat post!
I hope you are all feeling strong,