I have anxiety. I have depression. I bet if I sat down with my doctor, we would both come to the conclusion that I have bipolar disorder, because I swing so hard from mania to depression and back again. I make the movement of a pendulum stand stand still by comparison.
I’ve had multiple mental breakdowns. I’ve had emotional, intellectual, and physical burnout. My doctor was worried because of the workload. I sent him my latest glucose and blood pressure numbers, and he immediately setup an appointment for me to come in and see him. It’s not that my numbers were horrible, but considering I’m on two insulins, one blood glucose pill, three blood pressure medications, among others, it looked like my body was fighting them, and that has him concerned. So in a week or so, I will be going to the doctor, where he will give me a full battery of tests.
This is one of those moments I thank the Goddess for medicaid. Without it, there would be no tests, no full checkup, hell, no insulin, no nothing. It’s also why I worry about other people in this country who are barely surviving and need these services, even as our President moves to strike them down.
I believe there is no shame in saying I have mental issues. When I was a child, I was called a genius, told that I was exceptionally gifted in areas such as intellect, comprehensive awareness, musical affinity, and so on. While I was in 2nd grade, I was reading books like Green Eggs & Ham with the class, but at home I was consuming Jules Verne, H.G. Wells, and Mark Twain’s works voraciously.
I guess there has to be a payoff somewhere, some kind of balance. It has been said in modern psychology journals that the more intelligent you are, the more likely you are to suffer from some form of mental illness. That there is a fine line between genius and insanity. Now, I’m not saying I’m Albert Einstein, or Marie Curie, simply that I believe that the dropped shoe is self-evident.
I have so many wonderful friends who care about me, and some of them are particularly interested in my mental health. Thinking about that makes me cry, because I’m not used to people looking at me and asking me “are you okay?” That task usually falls to me when reaching out to others.
Sometimes I get so angry with humanity, because I see us creating so many of our own problems, and we all suffer as a result, but then I remember just how much I love humanity, and I seek to draw us all closer together.
I have never been officially diagnosed with bipolar disorder, or depression, or anxiety. My doctor wants me to see a specialist, but that’s beyond medicaid money. Once I get working, get actual insurance, I will be able to have all of these issues addressed, I hope, but for now I just have to keep dealing with them in my own way. This blog is one of those ways.
I’m honestly not surprised that I have mental health issues. Granted, a large part of it is genetic, and it does run in my family, especially depression and anxiety, but when I was a child, my parents and I lived in boxes, tents, backywards, in shacks on hill tops way out in the country. There were many days I went hungry because we simply did not have food, and my mother would cry as she tried to make something out of the leftover condiments in the icebox, just so there would be something on my stomach.
I was sexually abused by two different cousins, one of whom threatened to kill my parents if I ever said anything. We were kicked out of homes, went weeks without electricity, no heat, water shut off for months at a time. My childhood was rough. My brother was born shortly after much of this time, so he grew up when we had a little bit more. Not much, mind you, but we actually had a roof over our heads, and most of the time we had food. He is fortunate, and I am thankful for that.
I’m honestly not certain what keeps me going. I’ve always been an optimist. I’ve always loved people. As I mentioned in past posts, I used to hug everyone when I was a child. Friends, family, total strangers. I was the kid who loved people no matter what.
Now I’m the adult who loves people no matter what. I can honestly say that through everything I’ve had to endure, and what I must keep enduring, I am thankful I still love, that I can love as I do, and moreso that there are people who love me. It shocks me, it does. There are people who see me and their hearts delight in my presence. They are glad for any happiness I experience. I love them for that more than they will ever know.
I love all of you more than you can begin to fathom. ♥