I’ve been silent when it comes to blogging lately, and sometimes I have periods like that — where I drop a lot of things just so I can get through the bare minimum requirements of each day. I’m able to play with my baby and feed and clothe her, but that’s still a struggle at times, a struggle that leaves me without the energy for much more.
I have bipolar disorder. I’ve been thinking for a while of how to write any blog posts or how to come up with something to say, but all I can say right now is that my bipolar makes being a young mom even more challenging, and so that is what I’m focusing on instead of writing. When the only thought running through my head is a repetition of “I have to feel better. I have to feel better. I have to feel better,” it is hard to write about the state of young parents in America or social justice or anything that doesn’t have to do with lifting the fog from my mind as soon as possible.
In the same way that teen parents get treated like they just need to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, people with mental illness get treated like their sickness is a choice. I can’t count the times I’ve heard, “But you have a baby; you don’t have the luxury of being depressed.”
Being depressed isn’t a luxury. It’s a torturous cascade of chemicals in my brain, or a lack of them. It’s something that can be seen on a brain and that makes the same brain look different after treatment. It’s not my fault.
But what I do about it is up to me.
My little girl makes me want to be well in a way I never was able to muster before she came along. She provides structure in my life, the structure of having someone who needs me. She provides love. When I feel like a useless blob who helps nobody, I can just remember that I’m the one whose arms comfort her when she gets boo boos or feels sad. She reminds me every moment of every day that my illness is worth fighting, even if it’s a lifelong fight.
So. That’s where I’ve been. I thought long and hard about what to say. “I’ve been busy” makes it sound like this blog isn’t high on my list of priorities. “I have bipolar” might make it sound like I’m mentally weak if you don’t know better, but it’s more honest. I’m tired of hiding.