There are five stages of grief, and we experience them regardless of the situation, as long as it is traumatic. Shock – Anger – Bargaining – Depression – Acceptance.

I work at the hospital, and I see a lot of the shock and anger, even the bargaining. I can relate to those in my own life, but it takes quite a hit for me not to move past the depression stage quickly. I often jump right to acceptance. See, I am the eternal optimist. I am an optimist to a fault actually. I expect the best and when the worst happens, well, it totally fucks with me. A friend of mine is the opposite. She’s pessimistic and thinks the worst will happen and is pleasantly surprised when things go her way. I don’t get it. I remain the blind fool I guess.

This car thing has finally hit me though. They say be wary when a major event happens, that it can trigger mania and depression. I didn’t believe it. Why should I? I’m in control of my own life now, right? Well it happened and it sucked as usual. First I slept for 11 hours on Friday night, mistake number one. I got up with trepidation. I am so prone to the manic side of this illness that I pretty much knew I was headed for an eventful day.

I started out with a run, hoping that would curtail the excessiveness I was sure to feel by early afternoon, but then I had this great idea to cook all day and stock up the freezer for winter. My day turned out to be a shopping spree a the local grocery store, cooking two stew dinners, four helpings of pasta sauce and a vat of black bean soup. While the food was cooking and I didn’t need to watch it, I ripping up the perennial beds and replanted in the rain. Then I had to move the air conditioners out of the house and get in the winter stuff. I vacuumed the house, cleaned out the refrigerator, went through my closet and switched summer to winter clothes. I did three loads of laundry, folded clothes for two hours and worked out. Why in the hell didn’t I stop? Why didn’t I heed the warning signs to avoid the crash?

Sunday morning. I decided not to oversleep, good idea, but as the afternoon wore on I got more and more exhausted. I had to lay down at 4 o’clock. I would have slept for hours… I forced myself to get up though and make dinner, but when I headed into the kitchen I felt like I couldn’t do anything. I stared out the window and didn’t prepare food. I could tell that something was slipping in my mind and I had to catch it soon – my son was home. I felt this overwhelming sense of hopelessness. Do I really have to live with this for another 20, 30, 40 years? I don’t think I can do it. I thought about the relief of putting a 38 Smith & Wesson to my head and pulling the trigger. I was once again in a very bad place.

I sunk to the floor next to the refrigerator. I couldn’t get up. I wanted to curl up into a tiny ball and hide. I thought, Should I go to the urgent care psychiatric center?, because I knew that’s where I need to go when things get really bad. I forced myself to get up, regain control, but I could feel the insanity right there, behind a thin veil looking at me, waiting for me to slip up, let loose one tear, pick up one thing and throw it, let out one scream….

Is this how it’s going to go? Do I really have to live with this? How can I ever trust myself again?

I’ve been thinking about the word insanity. The folks at AA have taken it and skewed it to their own definition saying, “it’s doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results”. I’d like to punch one of them in the face right about now. I did not choose this, and despite what some people say about alcoholism, I don’t believe in the disease theory either. It’s still a choice to keep on drinking. It’s not a choice to be born with a mental illness that will burden you for the rest of your life.

Maybe I’m just being judgmental now, but the truth is, what happened tonight scared the shit out of me. How do I manage this? How do I explain to people what happens to me, so that they can help me? My ex-boyfriend walked into a horrible scene once and he got a taste of what it can really be like during a bad episode. I told him then and there, “This is what happens. This is what I am dealing with”.

So, I guess that I am not unaffected by the stress of being carless. Maybe this is the depression stage. I sure-to-God hope so. I need to move into the acceptance stage really soon!

My mom thinks I push myself too hard. She thinks that I’m trying to replicate the childhood she gave me with my own son. I try to explain… “Mom, I get up at 5:50, take a half hour for myself, then get in the shower, get ready for work, wake up my son, fix him breakfast, make sure the pets are fed and the dog is let out, fix him lunch, make sure everything is ready to go, drop him off at school, go to work,  work 8 hours, get out at 4:30, pick him up at 5, come home, take care of the dog, help my son with his homework, read over the ton of paperwork that comes home with him from school, make dinner, eat, get him in the shower, put him to bed, read to him, go and clean up the kitchen, start the dishwasher, make coffee for the morning, it’s now 9:30 pm, take an hour to myself, pass out and start it all over again tomorrow.”

The biggest challenge is keeping my cool. Before I had medication and didn’t understand my bipolar, I would be consoling myself with a bottle of wine and junk food, which is now why I’m 10 pounds overweight. I often got absolutely overwhelmed and would start sobbing in the kitchen around 10 pm, trying not to make too much of a racket and wake my son. Yes, I keep my cool much better now… and when I want to throw some little piece of electronic bullshit across the room (like my iPad) when it won’t connect to the internet, so I can watch one measly T.V. show for a half hour, I don’t. I can stop myself now. That’s a little bit of a relief. I can feel the rage coming on and chill out before disaster strikes.

I still wake up in the morning and look in the mirror and don’t recognize myself. I think, “What in the hell has happened to you? You look like shit on a stick!” So, I apply a ton of makeup only to discover at work under the harsh florescent lighting that I still have the black rings under my eyes. I still have the furrowed brow and the now ever present downturn of the mouth. No need to worry about laugh lines.

All in all I have one job – keep my son sheltered from all this. He doesn’t deserve to take on these burdens and thankfully I am still able to do this for him. Will there come a day when my stamina runs out? Am I headed for an inevitable crash and burn? I need to figure out how to have one hour to myself when I come home in the evening. I think it might be vital for my mental health. I’ll continue to try and figure out what that would look like. Until then, I look forward to the small moments of peace that do grace me. My dog who welcomes me home, my mom who unexpectedly makes me a wonderful meal, my son’s pride… It’s enough.