10/26/17

Last night I went to my bipolar support group and I actually talked. The facilitator, B, was talking about how so many of us seem to be mourning our past, our lost selves, longing for how the way things used to be, how we used to be. I don't think I've ever thought of things that way. I said:

I've never thought of it like that but I can see how it could be true, wanting things to be the way they were before my illness. What I'm having trouble with right now though is looking ahead to my future. Knowing that I have to deal with my illness for the rest of my life . . . knowing that I'm spending every day right now fighting with my brain, fighting with my thoughts, fighting not to kill myself and I have to do this for the rest of my life. Is it really worth it? Is this really a life I want to continue to live?

I started to cry, though I kept myself from breaking down completely. People offered up what they do to cope and it was actually comforting to know that I wasn't the only one struggling all the time with suicidal thoughts. Sadly, I didn't hear anything I haven't already tried. There was no new information. Group continued and at the end B and the other facilitator came to check on me and see how I was doing and if I needed to go to the hospital. I got hugs and B gave me his number in case I needed help.

When I got home I told my hubby about the meeting and started crying again (I spent most of the day yesterday crying). I didn't sleep well last night. Everything was turning over and over in my head. Between last night and this morning I came to realize something - I don't like myself. Like, I really don't like myself. I don't like how I look. I hate my body, I hate my weight, I hate my hair, I hate how no matter what I do I can't get rid of my acne, I hate how despite eating healthy and working out I can't seem to lose weight. I hate my anger. I hate how anxious I get in crowds. I hate my anxiety in general. I hate how withdrawn I am all the time and how difficult it is for me to connect with anyone. I hate that I'm only able to work part time. I hate the strain I put on my family and friends with my illness. I hate that my I make my hubby feel guilty. I hate that I am a burden. More than anything . . .

I FUCKING HATE MY BIPOLAR DISORDER.

I have this sneaking suspicion that I'm not going to be able to move forward until I can learn to love and accept myself. Sad thing is I have no idea how to do that. I'm so damn good at hating myself. I can start with positive affirmations I guess. Repeated every morning when I wake up. Maybe I'll actually start to believe them.

I am beautiful.
I am strong. 
I am worth it. 
I am enough. 

That's all I have right now.