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.