The Catch 22 That Is Bipolar Disorder

So I’ve been binging on the show Rookie Blue. And in season four they’ve introduced the “bipolar cop” storyline. Filled with stigma, of course. Gun, high stress job, bipolar “time bomb”. Pfft. The fact is, SOME people with bipolar disorder ARE fine with just the right medication and can be stable if they stay medicated.

When you have six different diagnoses as I do…it ceases to be that simplistic.

What never changes is our desire to NOT be labeled “bipolar whack job” even when we are doing poorly and know it. Because once the “mentally ill” label is thrown and lands on us…we are as good as ebola patients. Feared. Shunned. Treated as contagious. Regarded as a violent time bomb ticking. We know we have limitations but deep down we know…we would never intentionally cause harm.

It doesn’t matter because stigma overrules truth.

After being confronted by this ugly fact via fiction I just felt…more defeated, deflated.

What I have come to realize in the last few days is…I am not okay. I am down the rabbit hole and it is dark in here. Friday I literally put black curtains on my bedroom windows and shut the door because every bit of light felt like a sword piercing the space behind my eyes. I had a fever and overly warm yet still shivering and cold. There was no physical cause. I’m just a nutter.

Today I lolled in bed for a bit but managed to drag ass out and get us dressed and we went to some yard sales, found some good bargains that made it worthwhile. Then we came home and the locusts filled my yard- devil girls. I was gonna ground my kid from friends cos she had a screaming mimi last night and tried punching and kicking me…But it was so warm and sunny today, I just couldn’t keep her locked down. And neither of us can go outside without the locusts swarming us…Plus I have cramps so….Let others entertain Little Miss Demanding. I can’t keep up.

I have been in that “dark mind, dark room to calm” space thus avoiding phone calls even though I knew it’d result in R having a tantrum and my dad freaking out cos they are all just waiting for me to crack my lids…But ya know, mental issues or not, if you don’t feel like taking calls for a day or two, who the fuck has the right to judge you for that? I’m 43, my kid is fine, leave us the fuck alone.

But, Morgue, you should be grateful anyone cares enough to worry.

Yeah, way I see it is, if they worry…they will drive over here. If they just want me to do something to appease them, well, they call. Some days I am not strong enough to deal. Especially with cramps and my hormones rampaging.

I am so behind on the housework…OF COURSE, it is the one day my sister would pop over to bring me my mother’s day gift (from Spook, courtesy of her money) and see my shame. And yeah, at this point it has become shame. We have clear paths, clean clothes and dishes, but the clean laundry piled on the sofa and such could be misconstrued as hoarding. I think it’s more just…clutter. I keep waiting for “the day” when the energy and give a damn are there.

With depression it is not happening and my shrink’s refusal to increase my prozac or take me seriously has me ready for a Z whacker. Fuck zombies, let me take out the useless humans. You’re part of the problem or part of the solution and I flat out told him I was going under but he chose not “upset the balance” rather than do something to help me.

It’s frustrating. Maddening.

My sister decided at the last minute to cook a meal for the moms since she couldn’t afford gifts for everyone. We went over an hour before the food was done, hung out. My mom wasn’t being evil. She was supporting my parenting which told me a lot…She’s kissing up to me so she can see my kid more. I put on the smiley mask and tried to behave as if nothing is wrong…Because even if I say something is wrong I will just get told to suck it up cos having a kid cures mental illness.

And no, I don’t like using the term “mentally ill” but it is what it is.

I survived it all. Got my chew out text from R about how not being able to reach me meant he didn’t get to work on my car. Oddly, my phone log shows NO contact from him the entire day. Manipulative much? Never mind he made plans to do it Wednesday night, didn’t show, didn’t call or text…

I am so far down the rabbit hole I am inclined to treat him as he treats me. I want the car fixed but it’s got so many problems I am gonna end up needing a proper mechanic anyway simply due to his time limitation. He does this shit constantly, tries to please everyone, gets overwhelmed, then anyone who gets mad because they have been waiting six months is asking too much of him. Just say no, fuckhead.


I may not be feeling much positive emotion but I have got all the anger and hatred and frustration down to a science.

For all I know, it’s hormonal and a week from now it will mean nada.

I am having paranoid notions of my sister reporting to my other family how horrible my home is and how my kid deserves better. And I won’t say it doesn’t have a ring of truth to it. But the bottom line is, my kid has clean clothes, is well fed, attends school like clockwork, and she is happy and healthy. So clutter and dust don’t seem that important to me. Sorry. I should feel so awful that I am sent into a manic cleaning frenzy, I guess. It’s not happening.

Maybe tomorrow. Ya know, the one day of the year for moms. That will be my luck, get the energy to do it all on the one day I should be entitled to rest.

Bipolar is a catch 22 from the flaming pits of hell.

We want our condition recognized as serious.

But we don’t want to be perceived as being violent or inept.

In a perfect world full of intelligent, informed people, it wouldn’t be this way.

Alas, we live in a society filled with ignorance and fear and stigma.

That realization will make you depressed if you weren’t to begin with.


9 Responses to “The Catch 22 That Is Bipolar Disorder”

  1. Here’s your daily dose of Fuckitall. Take with Cake Vodka. And everyone else can piss off. And is be the bitch to take the car to an actual mechanic and have them bill R and daddy dearest.. Because it was their deal not yours, and they OBVIOUSLY know better. Cockweasels the lot of em.
    Z Whackers on Parade! DM said we can stay in his bunker, considering we will need a place off the grid once we use our Z Whackers on the useless “doctors” they call psychiatrists. Assfuckery.
    I managed to sweep all hard floors and vacuum. That counts as a HUGE victory after earlier today. Exhaustion has set in, and here’s to a sorry ass Mother’s Day tomorrow. Yay, syphili-spork to the eye for Perky Penny the Perfect Soccer Mom?

  2. Happy Mother’s Day Morgueticia. I honestly think you are one of the baddest asses I’ve encountered. Please put down an actual number for the real mechanic estimate for your car, or email me at my name (all one word) at aol dot com. I will try to help if I can. Carbon monoxide poisoning blows.

  3. I’m with Heather and Sass here, Morgue. You are kick ass, bad ass, you bet your sweet ass. When you’re feeling stabby, I hope you’ll be able to harness the rage and put it to work for you. Today, happy mother’s day. You’re a great mum, and I hope your youngling treats you extra nice today. And mine better be nice to Mrs M.

  4. Happy Mother’s day Morgue. I’m with Sass. Get an estimate from a real mechanic. Get father and R together and present them with estimate. Watch them squirm. Delight in said squirming. I will also help with $ if I can. It might not end up being that bad. Make sure you tell them that you don’t have a lot of money but don’t want your kid to die in the car. Sometimes, sympathy works.

  5. So glad you got to go Yardsaling:) Thought of you the other day when I was thinking about going myself. X

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