A few weeks back, I ran across a book I ordered. 'Madness: A Biploar Life,' by Marya Hornbacher. While I am still in the middle of reading her account of dealing with bipolar; I can only do so in swatches because some of her story is mine.
To me, her being diagnosed with an eating disorder along with depression was a coping mechanism she built to survive. It was a form of isolation to make sense of her world. Add in her illicit drug use, sexual misconduct, and self-medicating with alcohol; I really do see myself in some of her rants.
What doesn't surpise me is the use of prescription drugs to control some of the mood swings. However, doctors can only guess when making decisions about outpatient care options. Every individual is different; the lack of follow-up care in her case is as striking as in my own experience.
Can you imagine not being able to seek care because of military restrictions dealing with forms of mental illnesses? I know from mine own view -- sometimes
I CAN NOT GET OUT OF MY HEAD.
Giving me a drug to 'slow me down' in fact only heightens the being stuck and culls the frantic creativity that fuels my soul. While on drugs, no matter how hard I try; thoughts just race like a wheel in a rut and can make no rhyme or reason. I guess for myself since, I have an uncanny recall. My memory is a detrimental when dealing with the affects of any abuse or preceived abuse.
So... while I did practice some of Marya's coping skills which lead to her multiple hospitalizations. I on the other hand, had to learn how to deal with my crazes or I could have wound up in military prison. Talk about fear being a motivator; military prison in some ways was worse --- amped up--- in the form of control more than my own familial upbringing.
The question must be asked: How did I make it through 20 years of military service without being hospitalized or jailed? Did I do some really stupid shyte? Was there exhibited behaviors that could have ended a military career and or taken a life?
Oh yes, I did. But one magic word got me through:
Compartmentalization
More to come later..........
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On days like these
With tears welling in my eyes
I move about on tentative feet
Trying not to step on anyone
On days like these
Anxiety runs rampart on my body
So tense I can bite through nails
I hear Walt’s barbaric yawp
On days like these
Not yelling or screaming is so hard
I try not to rage against the machine of my mind
Because it scars and scares my boys
On days like these
My chest is so tight and heart races
I can hear my own heartbeat
Sitting back trying to breathe and focus
On days like these
No pin point of light to guide me through
Just tension I can chew
I tremble, falter, and pace
On days like these
With no tobacco to chain smoke
No wine to ease my ravaged mind into sleep
I just want these days to …… release
