By JR
I’m not getting out of bed all day. I know it’s early but I’ve already decided.
I wrote this declaration in my journal on Sat., February 2, 2014--my demented version of morning pages. It was the day that marked the beginning of my five-month "nervous breakdown.” After a lifetime of managing my anger and sadness (sometimes better than others), I found myself left with only my vulnerability, a part of me that I was unfamiliar and uncomfortable with. Now it was all I had.
It hadn’t even been one week since I had finished Mari’s 27 Days of Journaling to Health and Happiness. Hmm, this wasn’t exactly the health and happiness I signed up for. But in a way, it was.
I kept my promise and stayed in bed all weekend, sleeping and crying. Despite my desperation, I arose two days later on Mon., February 4 to do what I had to do, making the choice that there was no choice. I dropped my son off at school. Crying. I drove to work. Crying. I picked up my son. Crying. I came home and retreated to my bed. Crying. I separated myself from a houseful of people–my husband, my mother, my two teen daughters and my pre-teen son. People who needed me. People who couldn't bear to see my like this. People who watched me go to sleep, crying. And they cried, too.
Writing because I said I would.
I wrote this on February 5, three days into the breakdown I was determined to have. It was a snowy day so I could slip into the sheets without needing an excuse. I wrote about how I was feeling weighed down with fatigue that was as heavy as the snow that was piling up outside. I wrote down all my negative thoughts and feelings for pages and pages and pages.
And I wrote the next day. And the next. And the next. The handwriting started slipping as did my thoughts…I’m frozen, I’m a failure, I’m hateful, I’m desperate, I’m overwhelmed, I’m confused, I’m in pain…but I kept writing.
It’s 3 a.m. I woke up blanketed in total dread.
By March 1, my writing became scribbled, trying to move my hand as fast as my thoughts were racing. They were in pencil, lines skipped, words practically illegible. Words like “isolated,” “disappointed,” “broken,” ashamed.” Entries I wrote during the light of day were a little more positive, a little more rational, reminding me that there was a light if I could make it through the darkness.
What would a happy, successful, balanced, and healthy individual do?
In April, the 27-Day Challenge was on again, and I played. Sort of. I made my best effort to do the assignments. I skipped some. Sometimes I wrote three words. Many of my entries turned sour pretty quickly, like the one on setting SMART goals. All I could come up with was the question above. I didn’t know what to do so I asked myself, “What would someone else do?” Someone had to have the answer. Someone besides me.
I am aware…that I carry within me an innate sense of dissatisfaction.
May was my prompt period. Since I was lost, I decided to start off with some predetermined one liners to get things rolling. Inspirational quotes. Deep thoughts. Gratitudes. Entries were spotty but I was still writing. But my last entry for the month was May 20. The last words were the heading “Today’s Blessing.” There was nothing written underneath. Then came June.
I’m writing this in bed, in the dark at 3:44 a.m, with an ice pack on my head. I want to make sure I document this moment, the moment I accept that I absolutely, positively have bipolar disorder.
The first words I wrote on June 1 were, “I can’t do better.” And I couldn’t. The anxiety, the crying, the insomnia. Yet I was willing to live the rest of my life this way, my brain fooling me into thinking that this was my fate. But my husband was not willing to leave me this way. It was June 19 when my husband called a therapist he knew and she responded immediately.
When we spoke, it was the first time in all my years of seeing doctors that I was able to be totally honest. I was able to verbalize my feelings in a way I had never been able to before. Turns out she is the first doctor who was ever able to give me a proper diagnosis of bipolar disorder. I thought she was different than any other doctor I had ever seen. And although I still believe this to be true, I know that I was different, too. Without all these months of expressing my feelings in my journals, I never would have gotten meds on June 19, the night I wrote those words above.
That dark night left me so tired and vulnerable, I didn’t have the energy to kick and scream anymore. I stopped questioning and just followed orders. I got up the next day and went to work, loopy and out of sorts. I took the pills the next day, and the next and the next. And things got a little better and a little better.
Now I have great days filled with happiness that I never thought I could have. My relationships with my family are deeper and I can tell they are happier too. But it was not a miracle cure. Meds are constantly adjusted. And sometimes I get up at 3am ready for a soul crushing day of being agitated at everything from the socks on the floor to a two-hour who's-on-first conference call to the injustice of systemic racism, all of which I cry and yell about with equal intensity. But now I know to read the signs. And I talk about them. To my husband. To the doc. And now to you.
I’ve since done the 27-Day Journaling Challenge every time Mari starts it up again. I recently finished the January challenge, one year after my journey began. I’m still learning. Still adjusting. Still writing. And I’m on the road to the health and happiness that I signed up for one year ago, all from putting pen to paper.
I can’t wait to reach January 2016 and read my 2015 pages to see how far I have come. #WriteOn!
JR is a middle-aged woman recently diagnosed with bipolar II disorder. She has chosen to remain anonymous while she is learning how to manage her moods and meds along with her family of six and work as a communications professional. A writer at heart, journaling has been an important part of her journey to healing. She is now a proponent of journaling as a regular practice and hopes her story inspires others to write through their challenges.
Do you find yourself dwelling on missed opportunities? Or perhaps you're having trouble making sense of it all? Please download our free ebook, CreateWriteNow's Expert Guide to Therapeutic Journaling, shows you journaling can provide the tools you need to achieve the happiness we all deserve.
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