What should have been the beginning of the end to my anguish was simply the start of a new struggle. I found myself sans identity, the absence of the clouds of the illness allowed me to finally think clearly. After years and years of anguish and struggling with the illness I didn’t know who I was anymore. I had the luxury of exploring who I was and who I wanted to become. This part of my life was an exciting new journey and I jumped in with relish. During this time my marriage fell apart, I separated from my husband of 18 years. Still not fully stable (it can take a year or more) I was unable to take my children with me. My family and friends, still trying to cope with the knowledge of the illness, could not deal with a mother who was leaving her children. Everything that had been a part of my life was now gone. I was alone. But there was much to learn. The brain that had functioned within the parameters of the illness for so long really had no idea of how life worked and how I fit in. I made many mistakes but I saw life as a wonderful opportunity; mistakes were part of learning and I wanted to learn everything I could about myself and others. On the other hand there was a deep hatred for the disorder and how it had affected my life, I was angry about all that I had lost.
After a while, things seemed normal (as normal as they could be under the circumstances). I felt fine. I didn’t think I needed the visits to the therapist and I questioned my need for the medication. Not that taking a few pills a day is an awful inconvenience but there were some side-effects, unpleasant ones. And I still did not really want to accept the fact that I was bipolar, that I was mentally ill. I hated it. I began being less than meticulous about taking the meds. Sometimes days would pass; at times longer periods went by without my taking the medication. I wanted to prove I could do it on my own, that I was OK, normal, not ill. This is the road that brought me to the place I ended up in the week of the new year.
By this time I had been off of the medication for a couple of months. The past months had been stressful to say the least. There were constant run-ins with the almost-ex which were devastating, relationship problems with my children, and a job change. I felt I was weathering everything OK, not well, but OK. At times I felt great discouragement at how the year had gone, and I hated the disorder more than ever because I felt it was to blame for most of the issues I was having to face. I think there were signs I was unraveling but I failed to see them. Others did though and mentioned it to me. I did not want to be reminded. I was determined to be strong enough to get through anything, asking for help was a sign of weakness. I am not sure exactly how long it took but I know that finally the stress, lack of sleep, and yet one more family crisis and run-in with the almost ex, did me in. I crashed and I found myself sitting on my bed with a rope around my neck. Holding it tightly I felt the blood rushing to my head and my breathing hindered. I wanted the pain to end. A pain so all-encompassing that it was the only reality I was aware of. As my mind began to become fuzzy, I panicked. I couldn’t do it. I struggled to untie the rope. Exhausted I fell on the bed and finally slept.
