Ok, so, background for those who I have RECENTLY become friends with... About a month and a half ago, my boyfriend of a year and a half, whom I lived with, moved out and we called it quits. I won't get into the horrible uninteresting details (well they're interesting to me, but not to you) but I had RECENTLY been diagnosed as bipolar and was not yet on the correct meds. So, I had a MAJOR breakdown after he left.
When I was a teenager, I used to cut myself every now and then. My whole life, I have had symptoms (MANY of the them) of being bipolar. I would swing in and out of depression, over nothing apparent, and would go into extreme manic rampages. When I am in my manic state, my mind literally cannot slow down long enough for me to verbalize any single thought and I get VERY panicked. The same was the case when I was younger and I would cut very lightly on my legs. Just enough for it to sting and get my mind to focus on the physical pain instead of my emotional pain. I only did it maybe 10 times as a teenager really, mostly because I was afraid of my parents and getting caught. I have always been very close with my parents and it just became too much for me to hide from them, so I stopped. I also attempted suicide a couple times as a teenager (while with "friends", which makes me sick to think about now) but I never wanted my parents to know. But my parents have known about most of my panic attacks.
When I was 20, I had a panic attack while I was driving and I called 9-1-1 and pulled over and my attack was so bad that, and I DON'T remember saying this, apparently I told the operator that I thought I might hurt myself. The fact of the matter is, when you have a panic attack, you HONESTLY feel like you're going to die. I, generally, have no clue what I'm saying while having a panic attack. I almost black out. Anyways, next thing I knew, a cop picked me up and took me to a mental hospital on a 51/50 (for those who don't know, that's when they have to hold you in the mental hospital for 72 hours, or until a Dr says you're ok to leave, because of a suicide threat). I was diagnosed as having anxiety and depression (hmmm, anyone wanna put the pieces together here?!), was put on Prozac, and was released 48 hours later. Mind you, I lied about a lot to the doc just to get out of there.
Most Psych's and therapists I've gone to never heard the whole story from me. Never heard about my manias because I didn't want to be thought of as "crazy". I knew my uncle was bipolar and since I was 16, I've thought I was. But I REALLY didn't want to be. In fact, the only doc that knows is my CURRENT Dr who is the one who diagnosed me a month and a half or whatever ago.
Looking back to my relationship with my recent ex, I put him through a lot of crazy shit. But when he left, I lost it. COMPLETELY. For the first time in years, my skin began to crawl and my mind was going a thousand miles a minute. I felt like the weight of the world was on my chest and I couldn't breathe and so I did what I knew to do to distract my mind from my heartache...
For the first time in YEARS I broke a damn disposable razor and took that blade and... went nuts. I happen to also be very OCD about things (which many times come hand in hand with bipolar) so each thigh had the same amount of cuts. I know this is sick and ridiculous, but that's the human mind. I began doing it sometimes 3 times a day. Mind you, this was before I got on the "correct" meds (I put that in quotes because it's only been about 5 weeks so we don;t really KNOW if these are the correct meds yet). My legs... were shredded. It didn't seem THAT bad to me, but when I showed a couple of you on here, you were shocked.
Anyways, very soon after I reached exactly 500 cuts total, I had my appointment with my new psych doctor. I showed her within 2 minutes of being in her office, never met this woman before, and she was startled, even though I warned her. I saw sadness in her eyes and for the FIRST time in the 12 years I've been going to therapists and doctors I felt a connection. So, I sat down and I told her everything. I told her about all my rages and my insanities and my deep depressions etc. I felt this load just lift off my chest as she looked at me and told me she was diagnosing me with bipolar disorder. Though it's NOT fun news to get, I finally had someone give me an explaination as to why I was so "crazy".
I was put on Lamictal (though the verdict is still out on whether it is "the correct" medicine for me) and something instantly switched in me. I didn't even feel the need to hurt myself. I felt like I could FINALLY think straight and organize my thoughts and not take things so harshly.
About 2 weeks into my new meds, I was feeling great, my cuts no longer had scabs, and I decided I should tell my dad about it. My mom and dad divorced when I was a baby and I still maintained a VERY close relationship with both my parents. but, my dad's brother m(y uncle) is bipolar and my dad is a recovering drug addict (10 years clean, yay daddy!) and he understands "crazy". So, I was hanging with my dad and I told him. He cried. And he asked to see them. So I showed him my scars and he cried even more. I explained to him how much better I'm doing and that I don't want to do it again and no longer even feel a need for anything like that. And he said, "You need to tell your mom". I told him I would when the scars were better.
Well, yesterday, my dad made me promise I would tell my mom today. She's picking me up at 12:30 to go shopping for my nephew and that's when I'm going to tell her. I don't think i have ever been so scared of anything in my whole life. My mom is the most precious person on this earth with the biggest bleeding heart (bigger than mine, if you can imagine) and she holds me up on such a pedistal, I feel sick over this. I am going to make her so sad... and i hate that! I am so scared to look into her teared up eyes and show her my scars.
As you can see, they are much better. Many of the scars aren't even visible unless you get SUPER close, because most of the cuts were very light, just enough to bleed and sting. So, it's not like I have like a lot of extreme scars, it's just I can only imagine what it must feel like to see that on your only biological child. She's going to be scared, she's going to be sad, she may even be angry. i don't know. All I know is I want today to be over.
