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Sunday, April 12, 2009

Epiphany



I often tell a joke at my dearly departed mother's expense which goes along the line of, "She was never happy unless she had something to bitch about."  I realized last night that there is probably an awful lot of truth in that observation of Mom's behavior.  Mom was probably Bipolar -- I guess she lived with Bipolar Disorder Type II.  She had had childhood trauma, a mother that was also probably bipolar, and documented periods of severe depression.  She lived with agoraphobia and spent far too many days sitting in her special spot in the house reading or writing in her journals.  If Dad hadn't destroyed those diaries following her death, I'd wager that a close look at what she wrote would reveal her moods, mood swings, and the triggers that set her off in whatever direction her brain's storms sent her.

As I look back, I recognize that I am so so much like Irma.  I've avoided the hospitalizations, take more mood stabilizing medications, and have fought hard against my own agoraphobia.  I've been successful in my life despite crippling depressions and crazy flights of fancy when hypomanic.  I know what I need to do to be happy and content.  Unfortunately, living with both bipolar disorder and a wonky thyroid often sends all my great plans straight into the crapper.

Onward.  What else can I do?  I know my body.  I know my mind.  Marching onward is all that I can do right now.  There is no magic pill on the horizon that can easily transform someone's brain chemistry into an ideal chemical solution that cures every mental illness.  Shit, none of us are the same.  I was born with at least two birth defects so God knows what else I've fought to overcome and what else there is yet to battle.  The umbilical hernia was finally fixed several years back and the congenital nystagmus, other than preventing me from being an Air Force pilot or navigator, is something I just live with.

And, so, the bipolar coaster ride continues.

Oh, another joke that I often repeat about my parents:

"I never knew my father's actual first name was Cortland until I was in grade school.  My mom always called him YGDRGSOB -- You God Damned Rot Gut Son of a Bitch."

Albeit, with affection............LOL.



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1 comment:

MarmiteToasty said...

YGDRGSOB lmfao hahahahahahahaha

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