Had my annual yesterday. Spoke with the OB about my prolactin. She’s referred me to an endocrinologist. Prolactin is released when you’re pregnant for lactation. In non-pregnant people, it can be a cause of concern because it could indicate an issue with the pituitary gland, which is located in the brain. It sometimes means there’s a tumor (almost always benign) and it can affect eyesight and cause headaches, which I’ve been having. It also causes infertility. So, crossing my fingers. Really nervous.
So, it’s been a few years and with Facebook and Tumblr, I completely forgot about this maniacal corner of the Internet I seem to think is important.
Yet here I am, again. It’s 3am and I just had a cleansing cry. I was officially diagnosed bipolar, on top of everything else. I even had a recent manic episode.
I told my bipolar cousin today and she wasn’t surprised at all. In fact, she said she could have told me sooner. She reminded me of previous mania and I was flabbergasted that I have completely pushed them out of my memory. It all came flooding back today. The pain that accompanied it was so intense. For so long, I lost. I had no one and was constantly searching for help. Wow.
It’s going to be hard to grieve and process this. It’s so upended.
I found these photos the other night while snooping around at my mom’s.
I have scratched out faces to keep them private and respect this.
The two visible are of me, I’m guessing around 6 years old. The other person visible is the man who molested me after this photo was taken (maybe a year later). He was my godfather. His name is Jim Garrison and the last I heard, he lived in Maryland. I trusted him, blindly, as young children often do. I never made that mistake again. My innocence was taken from me.
It’s been 23 years. I am just now beginning to process the pain, the grief, and the lack of support that I’ve endured. What he did to me was only the beginning of years of internal hate, punishment of my own body, nightmares, assault by other men, fighting with my mother, excruciating therapy, suicide attempts, and now I struggle in my marriage with the only man I trust.
When I found these pictures, my first instinct was to shut down. Numb myself and escape. I fought that instinct. It’s one that has helped me survive but one that is impeding my healing process. I have to feel the emotions and pain as they surface and then part with them. This is the most difficult thing I’ve ever done in my life.
I’ve gotten to where I can now speak about what he did to me. I’ve gotten to where I now blame him and not myself. My 7 year old self. I’ve worked so hard and there’s still so much more to do. I believe this will be a lifelong process.
You are capable of healing. You are so much stronger than you think. Don’t let these pieces of shit win one more tear, one more cut, one more second of pain. Heal yourself and know that they are horrible, terrible, unhappy sacks of human garbage and you’re so much more than them.
Stop shitting all over people. Stop it right now. Don’t undermine and invalidate other people because you’re ignorant to their intentions or feelings. Just because you’ve never been there or that’s not how you would handle it, that doesn’t make it wrong.
Too many times, we hear that we’re attention seeking, perpetually depressed, or sometimes people actually believe that what the mentally ill are experiencing is a stage. A period of time that ALL people go through and you just need to get over it. That’s not how it works. That’s not how any of this works!
If I choose to wallow in my mood by listening to music and watching movies and blogging, then let me! If you choose to exercise and clean, or whatever happens to improve your mood for that moment, then have a blast! Not everyone processes things the same way and we all need to find our niche. Once we do, it’s comforting.
Coming onto Tumblr, and other sites with mentally ill/dark blogs, is a comfort and release for many of us. It’s a way to seek support and possibly vent. Why is this frowned upon? Some people don’t have anywhere else to go.
When I was first diagnosed 10 years ago, there was no internet comparable to the way it is now. There was MySpace and horribly stigmatic psychological information to digest. The first groups that began springing up were poorly run and ended up being suicide watch instead of a support for all involved. Tumblr came around and I was absolutely thrilled. I could be open and not be judged. It was fabulous!
Why do we have this incessant desire to share our hopelessness, our fears, and our behaviors online for all to read and, sadly, judge us? There’s something about “getting it out there” that is promising to us. We need it out of us and out there, into the world. We need it to be real.