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I am a 30 year old wife and mother. I am currently working on my graduate degree in Psychology (with a BS in Finance). I’ve been wearing my “mommy hat” for 6 years now and have yet to have a career outside of the home. I always knew I was different than most people I meet. I thought I was just being an emotional woman, with artistic flairs and a near constant melancholy mood. And maybe for a while, that’s all it was. I was always taken with obsessive thoughts of how much talent I had, would get wrapped up in projects for days/months, always felt spiritually connected, and could feel the emotions other people emitted so deeply that I could practically see them in the air. It never disturbed my life, and I continued achieving normal milestones in a young woman’s life without any major hiccups along the way. A combination of events occurred that I believe caused my mild anxiety and depression to turn into a serious mental illness that threatened to literally kill me. And, in April of 2012 I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder.
I’ve always lived in and with depression. But in the fall/winter of 2010, I had my worst, when during pregnancy I considered stabbing myself in the uterus and then throwing myself out of my 2nd story bedroom window. A few months later, after the baby was born, I was always having fantasies about driving off a bridge with my kids in the car. And we’ve got a lot of bridges around here. I pulled through without hurting anyone, including myself, and summed it up to some bad PPD. I was seeing my therapist, but wasn’t being honest about my feelings and thoughts. I was embarrassed.
A year later, winter/spring of 2011 I had my worst manic episode to date. I went from being a soccer mom to having an affair with my boss and co-worker, having my first sexual experience with a woman, a phone call away from becoming a stripper, hating running to running 10-12 miles a week, hating my body to buying a bikini and then mowing the lawn in it, and never spending a penny on myself to buying myself a couple new outfits every week (granted, they were from the thrift store – I’m forever thrifty. Manic or not.).
Clearly, something was wrong. And I knew it. But I had an extremely hard time acting against it because it felt so good, and so right. It was the best I’d ever felt, and for someone who was pretty much chronically depressed their whole life, it’s not something you want to admit is wrong. But my love for my husband (yes, he blogs about our experience as well) and my family prevailed. You can read about how here.
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