I spent this New Years Eve in the psych ward of the local hospital. It was the culmination of two years of struggling with a disorder that I have allowed to wreak havoc upon my life. The experience was eye-opening in many ways and I wish to share it, not for pity or sympathy, empathy or understanding, but for two reasons. The first is because I believe there are many others out there like me who struggle daily with this disorder, ashamed and afraid of the stigma that goes with it; secondly, for myself, as part of the healing and acceptance I need to bring this disorder under control so that I can live my life as I choose to live it.
It is ironic that this episode took place almost exactly two years from the day of my diagnosis. I remember the prior year very vividly. It was a year of pain and anguish and confusion. The stress of daily life had become almost unbearable. I was married and a homemaker with 8 children. I had been home-schooling them since they had become old enough to go to school. We had also taken in a child whose mother was on her way to prison. As each day went by I found myself less and less able to take care of things which needed my attention. My mind was becoming confused and I questioned all that I had come to know and believe and understand. It seemed the foundations of my mind were crumbling and I had no idea why.
