Part 4-Motherhood and Bipolar disorder

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

About six months after the new "normal" we were enjoying our marriage and I finally felt like I could handle possibly being a mother. Since I can remember, I've had an overwhelming urge to be a mother. Our first two years of marriage, I was even hoping for an "oops" baby. But deep down I was scared to have a baby and ruin them with my rages. With six months of wonderful times under my belt I was beyond ready to start a family. Noah agreed and we decided to get our ducks in a row. We called to change our insurance, only to find out that we were 4 days late and would have to wait till next year to add maternity coverage! We decided that we weren't going to let that stop us and we would just pay out of pocket. I then went to my psychiatrist to talk about changing my medication. I told her excitedly that we were ready to start a family and I needed to switch to something safe. My dreams were bashed in a matter of minutes as she explained to me that there was no safe medicine to have a baby on. That it was extremely dangerous to get off of medicine and that she thought maybe after a few years, we could reconsider. I was so shocked! I had told her early on in our first meeting we wanted a family in the near future and she never said anything about not being able to. A couple years down the road did not sound good to me. I was impatient and frustrated. I tried to tell her we didn't want to wait a few years and she responded with,

"People like you probably shouldn't have babies."

It was like she had reached into my chest and pulled out my heart. It was so cut and dry. So cold. So heartless. I was distraught. Needless to say, that day I walked out of her office was the last day I saw her.

I started researching on my own and talking to other psychiatrists. No one was willing to help me (at least no one in the time frame of the next year). I even went to a natural doctor who tried to hypnotize me. She said maybe after a year of her "procedures" I might could be ready.

I hated that. Everyone deciding when or not I could get pregnant. My body was ready, my heart was ready, our home was ready....But this horrible secret was stopping me. What was the point in living, if I couldn't do what I felt made for?

I prayed a lot and decided off birth control and used other methods. Secretly hoping for an "oops". I then made the decision after a lot of prayer, that I was going to get off my medicine and see what happened. It might have been a stupid decision, but I made it and I never experienced lows like I had before. Right when I felt we had our ducks in a row, (off meds, off birth control for a couple months, decided to pay out of pocket, etc. ) We were set to officially start trying in a couple days... We were on the way to a hotel for a conference. I had packed a bottle of wine (hopefully my last for a while), lingerie, a baby journal, I was so ready and beyond excited. I'd been working up to this point for months! Noah informed me on the drive to Atlanta, he just didn't think it was the right time. This sent me into a fit of rage. I didn't try to hurt myself this time. Instead I drank the entire bottle of wine by myself and demanded that Noah take me to dinner. I vaguely remember sitting at a nice restaurant crying into my pasta as everyone around me looked at our sad table. Noah sat there cold as ice as he watched me eat.

I vigorously wrote in my journal that week. I really felt like I was dying inside. I just knew the time was right. I wanted to be a mother and everyone around me was telling me no. The more they told me no, the more I felt out of control, the more out of control I felt, the more I felt like everyone was right and I would be a terrible mother.

2 months after this episode, we decided to chance it. We stopped all forms of contraceptives and waited to see what would happen.

On our 3rd anniversary, I woke up at 6 am to take a test. I just had a feeling (much like my 20 other feelings of the past months). I was shocked beyond belief when I looked and it read "pregnant". I could not believe it!

It began my journey of motherhood. I was scared to see what the pregnancy hormone would do for me. I braced myself for the horrible possibility of feeling depressed and suicidal while carrying another life. I was worried I had made a poor decision and that I potentially was going to ruin this baby.

Pregnancy made me feel wonderful...emotionally. I did throw up hundreds of times a day through almost the whole pregnancy. But who cares! I was mentally there, alert, and I was handling situations well. I felt normal, I felt just like I was on the Lamictal. I was so thankful to God for giving me the gift of a son, and so thankful that it wasn't an emotionally hard road to travel. Barclay was born in February and I was ready to be hit with a severe case of baby blues. I was scared that as soon as I wasn't pregnant, I would suddenly become my old self. Months passed, and although tired, worn out and slightly emotional (who isn't?) I felt great. I guess the breast feeding kept that hormone going. So no problems at all.

Even though it wasn't in my exact timing, the Lord gave me the desires of my heart. The pregnancy and these last 11 months have no doubt been the best of my life.

To be continued...

Part 3-Diagnosis

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

It was soon after I graduated from college, we had our second anniversary and moved for the 6th time since our marriage. It was the peak of the worst. I knew something had to change and since I didn't know what else to do, I went to our sweet, Christian marriage counselor (who we had starting going to a few months before). Previously, in all our meetings we had focused on past family experiences, and little normal marital tiffs. This time I went to her by myself and just started with.

"Something is the matter with me and I have no idea what it is. I cannot control myself and I am hurting my husband and I don't know how to stop. I need help."

It was shocking. I had never admitted the evil that had been going on in myself and in our marriage .

I told her exactly how I was acting and feeling. No warming up to it, sugar coating it. Raw. Ugly. Awful...laid out for her in a matter of minutes.

After I spoke, I expected her to say something like, "Well you need to pray more, or No Helen Joy, you are a happy person. I know it's just a sin problem."

Instead, she took out a text book and read to me the symptoms of bi polar disorder. I got chills as she repeated back to me the exact things I had just told her.

A weight started lifting off my shoulders as I realized that maybe there was something that could help me get control.

Within the week, I was referred to a psychologist who diagnosed me right away with bipolar disorder.

I had to take a quiz. If you had 7 of the 13 symptoms, you were bipolar. I had 12 of the 13...the only thing I didn't have was inability to sleep. Just reading through the quiz I was shocked at the random things it asked that were so prevalent in my life...my whole life. Things I never though were connected.

The psychiatrist talked to me about our plan as far as medication. I told her I wanted to be on the least amount of medicine and also that I wanted to be able to start a family in the near future. She looked at me over her glasses when I said that. And then jotted stuff down.

I immediately started taking Lamictal. I was worried about so much:

Would I completely loose myself?

Would the fun, energetic, artistic me be gone forever?

Would I be a robot?

Would I react bad to the medicine and go even more crazy?

Almost everything I read about bipolar disorder had so much drama about medicine and how it changed people...

It was scary. But not nearly as scary as just letting things go on as they were.

I started on the lowest lowest dose of lamictal. The trial start packet. I went up a little every week for three weeks and then I was on the lowest dose you could continually take.

My life changed.

Within the 1st week, I felt like a new person. Little things that had previously sent me into a raging, self mutilating rage went by almost unnoticed. And the kicker...I didn't even feel like I had to try to control myself. It came as second nature.

I felt present. My heart didn't beat fast, the adrenaline didn't send me up over my body. I was able to calmly think and react. It was a miracle!

To go from thinking I might kill myself, to having a nice normal life...in a weeks time is mind blowing.

Our "problems" were shown at how minimal they really were.

I was so thrilled that I wanted to share the good news with anyone who would listen.

Unfortunately, people didn't take it well.

Almost everyone I told, who knew me just could not believe what was coming out of my mouth. Even my closest friend in all the world had no clue about the struggle I had with myself. Response after response was,

"I don't believe you. You're so joyful. I just can't believe you were like that."

I felt so sad that no one truly knew me. And because no one but Noah knew me, I felt like most people didn't think it was that big of a deal. They trivialized it and made me question myself a lot.

Then there were people close to me who basically chastised me for believing that I needed medication. They said it was an excuse for my behavior. They said that that sort of stuff was just bull.

I remember telling one friend about it and before I could even get through a sentence, he said, "That stuff is such lies. There's nothing wrong with you." Just like that. He had decided he knew me well enough to decide that it was all a lie. This made me question my decisions to accept my diagnosis so easily and to start on medication. Despite the good results I was having.

I started talking myself out of it. I was on the lowest dosage. What if it had quickly corrected the imbalance in my head and I would be OK from now on? What if everything was in my head? What if I wasn't that bad to begin with? It's so easy to forget how bad things were. It was as if it was another life time ago.

But everything I read warned about how Bi polar patients always try to convince themselves to get off medicine and then...things get worse and worse.

So I stayed on it, enjoyed life, enjoyed my marriage, and started the healing process of forgiving myself.

For the first time, I was looking forward to life and not viewing every day as a struggle to get through.

What a blessing it was!

The second year- Part 2

Part One

Part TWO:

Our second year of marriage was hell. Complete and udder hell. Whoever said the first year is the hardest, didn't know us.

I think back on it and all I remember was a blur. I don't remember specifics. I cannot put into words the darkness that year was to me.

I remember it getting bad the second summer we were married. I was working two jobs and I just felt on edge all the time. Just to tell you how bad it was at the BEGINNING of the year...

I remember once, Noah was 2 hours late to get home. We were supposed to leave for the beach and he just didn't call me to let me know he was going to be late. By the time he got home, I was livid. Granted, he was wrong by not being thoughtful, but I took it to a whole new level. The more I fussed at him the more indifferent he got. It fueled my fire. At one point, I chugged a mini bottle of tequila we had lying around, grabbed a knife and proceeded to threaten to kill myself in front of him. This all escalated in a matter of minutes. Noah was so shocked and scared he just didn't react, which made me want to do more. I then ran outside our apartment, took all my clothes off and ran towards the highway that ran near us completely naked. It was raining, I was crying...I wanted Noah to follow me...to save me. Instead, I peak through the window to see what he was doing and saw he had started a movie and was sitting on the couch. I then sat my naked body down in the road and cried as rain fell down around me, holding a knife. I remember that vividly. The pain I was feeling, the SHAME I was feeling. The frustration that my husband didn't care.

(I must say that Noah was scared to death in all of this. It started with yelling and by the end of everything always ended with attempts on my life. Noah was so scared that if he gave in and reacted to me, I would take that as, It worked...so I should keep doing it. ) I don't think that was necessarily the way to help me, but it was what he did to survive...it wasn't that he was cold hearted.

This time in my life was exhausting. Almost every single night small things would escalate and I attempted suicide too many times to count. I also started cutting and drinking. I never really wanted to die...I just wanted someone to know how badly I was hurting and the desperation that I felt. I did not feel there was a way out of the madness.

I would drink a half bottle of vodka in 5 minutes and would sit on my floor sobbing and unable to move. I was numb. It just made Noah more and more angry and hurt. And his coping was to move further away from me...which drove me to do more things to get his attention...it was a wheel of death that just kept turning.

I remember one day waking up from a break down and reading curse words written in pen all over parts of my body. Horrible words written so hard that I had drawn blood. But when I woke up, I felt normal and happy...when I went to take a shower, I was shocked at the words and it all started coming back to me. The 3 hour fight, that ended up...like this.

At my Sororitie's senior dance, Noah wouldn't dance with me, I proceeded to take a bottle of Tylenol and run into the hills of the golf course at the country club. I laid there on the dewy grass waiting to slip away...or waiting for Noah to finally get the hint and come RESCUE me. Neither happened. Instead I felt stupid and as I made my way back to the party, I realized how bad off I was.

Or there was the time we went to a concert, with a lot of friends from college. I was singing along to our favorite song and Noah asked me to stop...he had come to hear them sing it. This crushed me and I moved back a couple rows. He didn't once turn to look for me or ask me to come back. So I sat the whole concert in the back, crying and getting more and more mad. By the end of it, I ran past all my friends, to my car where I started ripping into my arms with my keys making them bleed.

Once I drove the car to down town and purposely ran red light after red light just begging to be hit.

These situations happened at least twice a week. Why didn't Noah commit me? Because I was too smart for that. As soon as he would start dialing 911 I would wise up and sweet talk my way out of it.

Through all of this I was continually praying, continually journaling, TRYING TRYING TRYING to be better. To stop the madness.

I remember one night in particular trying to talk to Noah and explain how I was feeling. I told him I felt like two different people. The person that hurt him, and then me. I told him I had no idea how to stop it and that I was TRYING so hard and I could not stop my hurtfulness. It was like as soon as an argument took place, I was lifted into the air hundreds of feet above myself and I watched this demon like person say things and do things...I felt I had no power over myself.

Throughout all of this, we were going regularly to marriage counseling but never addressing our problems...mostly problems dealing with our parent's divorce and things of that nature.

I felt like my dreams of a marriage that was going to work were shattered.

If I wasn't screaming and cutting myself I was trying to make it up to Noah and he would have none of it. He was distancing himself by the minute and I don't blame him.

By the end of that year, I would look at him and I saw a wounded animal looking back at me. I would raise my hand to grab something off the top shelf and he would flinch for the hit.

I had ruined my marriage. I hated myself. And not a single person other than us knew what was going on. It was lonely and brutal. Every single day was a battle.

to be continued...

My Journey with Bi Polar Disorder-Part 1

I'm linking up to Kelly's Show us your Ministry.
Although I would not say that my blog is completely dedicated to dealing with my bi polar disorder, I would say that it is real and honest. When I was diagnosed several years ago, I experienced what I thought would be the loss of my biggest dream....motherhood. I wrote about my journey in 4 parts starting with this post, which I wrote several months ago.

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

I hope you will take the time to read through it and that it encourages you!

Part 1
I've gone back and forth about whether or not I should ever mention or talk about this on this blog. I'm not scared of what people will think, and I share with anyone who will listen to me if I've ever talked to you in person.

I don't care if people skip over it because it isn't a Christmas cookie recipe or lovely photos of my child.

I do slightly care about "opinions" some might have and try to share...although I'd never let that be my reason not to share.

I just never felt like doing it.

Until today. For some reason, all day, words were running through my mind. I couldn't get them out and I couldn't shut them up.

No one wants to read about this at Christmas, I thought. But here I am at 10 pm writing. I really feel, for some reason that God wants me to write this. So here goes.

Ever since I can remember I've been a passionate girl. Always the first to suggest an impromptu skinny dipping expedition...always making art and writing poetry, always the emotion one. I love these things about myself. These are reasons my friends and family love me.

I remember, in high school, sneaking out of my room at night ( not to meet a boy) but to run barefoot in the field across the road and sing song at the top of my lungs to God.

I've always felt very alive, always been very joyful and happy.

With these good qualities, come some very hard and hurtful things about me. I get upset very easily, I don't like criticism, one small thing can send me into the "depths of despair" (as Anne of Green Gables would say).

I've always been called a drama queen, an attention seeker, an all or nothing girl.

My mother used to whisper in my ear several times every day, "Self control".

I never had any no matter how hard I tried.

Up until college, these things gave me minimal trouble and for the most part I was loving life despite many hard circumstances.

I don't know when the downward spiral started. I sometimes think it was when I started on birth control a few months before my wedding, other times I think it was the marriage itself. The fact that I was suddenly with someone 24/7 and could not hide any of me.

Either way, just a few months into our marriage, I started having a few break downs here and there. It would start with a small comment and in no time I was hysterical crying on the floor. Several hours later, the fight would be over and I would feel normal. I would want to hold hands and talk to Noah. I would want to go on as if nothing had happened. I remember the first time I had one of these break downs. We were getting ready to fly to Boston for a friend's wedding. I was packing and I honestly do not remember what started it. I do remember the look on Noah's face as I barraged him with insults and accusations. I remember it as if I was flying above our bodies and watching from afar. I remember the hurt on his face and the confusion when I "came back down".

Our first year of marriage was probably your typical first year, in many ways. Lots of adjusting and learning, not necessarily anything out of the ordinary. I thought these fights we were having were the normal..."Marriage takes work."

Despite the "break downs", Noah and I had a year full of absolute blissful moments. There were times I was so happy I felt like I would burst. These moments were much more often then not.

to be continued...

Christmas Cheer

We got about a foot of snow over the weekend. Barclay's first snow. He wasn't too impressed. I took a few cute pictures of him in his red rocker.

What a sweet little boy.

Despite the snow, this precious baby, the Josh Groban Christmas CD I have on replay, the cookies I bake, the tree and the smells.

This year I'm having a hard time feeling in the Christmas Spirit. I don't know what it is! I think it's just a hard transition year, from being with our families to having our own family of three. I want it to be all it was when I grew up, and it just isn't. (Not that Barclay has a clue what is going on). I think I just had such high expectations about how our first Christmas with a baby was going to be. Hoping to find some Christmas spirit in the next few days.

Stuffing Barclay's first stocking with straws is truly going to be magical:-)

Marital Fights

I hate marital fights. They're the worst.

#1.You know exactly how to hurt each other, exactly how to push buttons...and in situations like fights...most of the time you choose to do it.

#2.You love the other person more than anyone on earth, so it hurts worse.

#3.You can't vent to anyone because you have to protect your marriage and your loved one.

Marital fights are lonely and brutal.

I hate them.

Catching up on sleep

The past week, Barclay has slept all night long...or at least I have. I think God shut my keen sense of hearing off last week and I haven't heard him since.

Praise the Lord.

This past week, I've been even more tired then before (waking up 3 times a night). I think I just am realizing what I've been missing.

And Barclay has taken a 3 1/2 hour nap today and is working on 1 1/2 hours as I type this.

Sleep is so nice...I had forgotten!