I have to admit, I've been managing this bipolar disorder pretty well lately. Even with the cold long winter, I've only had a couple of bouts of depression and I've sprung back rather quickly. The treatments are working, like I found out last year. But now, they're REALLY working. I rarely cry and I don't think about dying. I just don't. I'm not sure how that happened but whatever chemicals are coming into my body twice a day and causing some unpleasant side effects, keep 'em coming. I'll take it. Life and its annoyances > Death.
In the mail arrived a very sweet card from a woman, Dianne, who works hard on managing her own severe depression. We've talked on occasion, and she's always so encouraging even through her own pain. Always.
In the card, she told me some of the new techniques she was using: aromatherapy and meditation. She said to have hope, that spring is coming. Then Dianne wrote that I was her role model.
WHAT?! I threw the card down. Then picked it up. I'm not fit to be anyone's role model. Nobody's. She said I inspired her to get on board with cleaner living.
My past self, the one that guzzled gin and inhaled Oreos, found that amusing. My current self, the one who is struggling with sugar and carbs and weight loss and exercise, is incredulous.
Despite working for years on the negative self-talk brought by depression, it's still there. Thanks to therapy, the negative voices are not as loud but they're my norm, until the mania comes. And with these drugs, I don't think the mania is going to come back.
I had been thinking that Dianne was my role model. At a public event last year she gave me a huge boost when I was breaking down. We talk and understand each other and what we need to do to manage the disease of the brain so that it doesn't take over again.
Dianne's card was very sweet but it meant more than that. Someone telling you that you're their role model, right there, gives you one more reason to grab life.