Throwing Anger Around Like Confetti.

What is going on? This is how it began. My diagnosis. It began with anger that I seemingly couldn’t control. It came out of nowhere and had no reasoning. I all but ran towards help for fear that I would lose my family, friends, my job.

It’s back.

I feel like my whole life is defined by my anger. I am not making excuses. Everyone gets angry, but I have learned to distinguish justified (by me) anger and bipolar anger. I know that getting upset when someone speaks is not justified. I felt like it was getting better. SO. MUCH. BETTER.

I really cannot remember the last time I was this angry all the time. It snuck up on me. It is an unbearable rush of animosity that I can’t quite swallow. I can’t hide it. It creeps up and jumps out. It is always lurking in the shadows behind my joy. I have a silver tongue. It is my weapon of choice, but I didn’t invite it here. I didn’t invite it to a sunny afternoon of crafting, I didn’t invite it to a facetime conversation with my sister, I didn’t invite it to Thanksgiving dinner.

Someone else being right is not a reason to be angry.

Missing an ingredient for pie is not a reason to be angry.

Being asked if I was up late because I slept in is not a reason to be angry.

And yet I am.

So angry that I called a friend a bitch.

So angry that I broke a perfume bottle.

So angry that I intentionally left the ham out overnight so nobody could have leftovers.

A vengeful, spiteful, destructive hate that I throw around like confetti.

I often question if the medication is actually helping or If I am just having highs and lows and the in betweens. That maybe the in betweens were the past few months and it was just an unusual length of okayness.

I am not okay today.

And that is okay.

Mental Health Detective

Hello Dear Friends and Blogging Community – I am writing this as I am about to undertake – well in the next few days – a DANGEROUS pursuit.  It will be filled with ups and downs.  Highs and lows.  I will need to wait.  I will need to move up a seat or hardwood bench in a too cold room, for far, far too long.  I will confront enemies, perhaps a friend or two, and I may need to come back, again, and again.  And I will feel like giving up.  Feeling like I can’t crawl to the bitter end.   Yes, my dear friends, I am going to go for my mental health treatment in the PUBLIC SECTOR.  I am going to subjecting me and my very fragile self to the primary healthcare system in a country probs with developing country status in any and all mental health related service and I am AFRAID.

Now you might say, what on earth is she going on about?  That’s no problem?  The biggest majority of people with mental illness go through the public health system.  And my answer is NOT BY CHOICE.  I had private healthcare, but I worked my butt off to have it.  And not just for me, but for my children too/   I paid for a psychiatric hospital that had clever lighting, placed quotes etc to not demonstrate that you are like I dunno, hospitalised.  The public health system in my country, is BLATANT about the fact that you are NOT ok, and they WILL openly stigmatise through something as simple as the appointment system.  For example there is “psychiatric day” i.e. the people on  that day, you want to avoid, draw air spirals around your ear in front of the patient to describe to co-workers what they have, mad day.  The other way is putting the mentally ill in the “green sticker” line which ensures “confidentiality”.  For no-one.  Because all the patients who go to the clinic know what the sticker colour means or you will end up getting a good dose of anti-retrovirals for your Bipolar.

I have decided that I will go to to the first appointment armed with things will assist: my mother so she can keep my space in the line (and perhaps people will think I’ve brought her instead of the alternative) while I go and smoke, snacks, a book and cellphone data so I can imaginery bullet journal and get lost in beautiful stationery on psychiatric day.  I will report back on the experience of being in the green sticker line.  And what mental health has been like for people with mental illness in my country who are a lot more in need than me.  And hopefully in so doing, I can make a suggestion or two about the colour they gave us.  I’ve never looked good in green.  Mentally Ill I can do.  Be part of those who support us as opposed to those who don’t.  I am 4 M’s Bipolar Mom.