Posted: November 17, 2013 in Bipolar, Children, Family, Health, Life, Love, mental health, Society
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I think my illness is over. Two days ago my symptoms went away. I feel pretty good right now. I don’t want to jinx myself by saying I’m cured.

Aside from the depression and anxiety I endured, a new mentality was born. Critical self-examination. I ponder on the person I am now and the happily undiagnosed bipolar I was.

20 years ago, I didn’t take 14 pills per day. But I flirted with dangerous behavior. I wasn’t always happily manic. I crashed like a plane and engaged in self harm.

This is a strange thing. A part of me wants to go back. My mind bounces between the two lives a lot. Last night, I was caught up in the joy of going out. Today, I’m considering staying in to avoid getting sick.

I can’t ever go out like I use to go out. That Monica was completely ignorant. This Monica is 44 years old and pissed at being so damn responsible.

I have a long list of medical issues that require therapy, meds, surgery and life altering rituals. I’m 44 years old and I’m shutting down on so many levels.

I’m sick now and forever. It isn’t fair. I’m still young. That said, many things in my life are not fair. I had an unfair childhood. I had a troubled home.

Not everything was awful. I was blessed with fun and beautiful moments as a child. I was never ashamed of my mother. She looked great and conducted herself with class.

For the past 13 years, I have been married to a sweet, intelligent and thoughtful man. He supports me in every way. My illnesses are bad but life without love would be intolerable.




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