Each morning I start my day at the pill box.
As far as I can tell, nothing seems to happen when I take my medication, and nothing seems to happen if I forget to take them for a day.
Bipolar runs thick in the family roots. It assaults some of us more than others, and all we can do is deal with it the best we can.
It reared its head in my life in my thirties, and it’s still a juggling act.
A nine year, happy streak, ended winter of 2021 and I could not get back to normal.
A trip to Target provided an unexpected panacea.
“Mom, come with me to Target.” My eighteen year old invites.
“Nah.” I answer unapologetic. I have no desire to leave the house, and want the day to end so I can go to bed.
“Please come with me.” She begs. “I don’t want to go alone.”
Every fiber of my being hates the thought of being in public.
“That is the last thing I want to do right now” I say bluntly, feeling irritated with my mood.
“It will be fast, I promise. P-l-e-a-s-e don’t make me go alone.” She pathetically tries again.
I give in, and mope to the car.
On the way we stop by Twisted Sugar to say hi to a friend and she gives us two speciality drinks, for free. I’m not a soda drinker but drink it anyway. Soon we are at Target and the World is right. I feel great!
“Mom, it’s not right that you need caffeine to be normal.” She observes as I ride a cart down the aisle. “You need help.”
“Caffeine?” I question. “The drink did this?” I am genuinely surprised. Could it be? Something as simple as caffeine changed the rainy forecast of my life to clear and sunny skies in a matter of minuets? I know this makes me sound naive. In the soda realm I am. I am not soda drinker. I don't like the taste of Coke, Pepsi, or Dr.Pepper. I never have. My drink preferences are water (no ice) and if dining out, Rootbeer.
The rest of the day the caffeine makes me feel like I have reconnected with an old friend. It is good to be back. I am motivated to return to this life. I decide I need medication.
For the next few months I supplement caffeine tablets with bipolar medication as I ease into the right dose. Migraines appear out of nowhere and I realize the caffeine is sabotaging my progress. I give it up and painfully wait for the meds to kick in.
On the way to a routine visit with my Psychologist, a year later, I feel I have successfully climbed out of my pit.
I am annoyed I needed to arrange a babysitter to drive to his office, only to tell him everything is fine, and then pay him…for nothing.
“How did the winter go?” He asks as I plop down on his couch, on a bleak day in March.
“You mean it’s over?” I reflexively turn to the window to observe the skies.
I sailed through winter and hadn’t realized it. This is very unusual for me.
“I guess that means the medication is working.” He declares while scribbling in his notepad.
“It is a big change from Winters past, right?” He continues, not looking up at me.
He is right! I had a fantastic fall and winter. Nothing about it bothered me. January and February flew by and I have been my productive, happy self.
It embarrasses me that I haven’t thought to give the medication credit for the improvement, just as I had naively overlooked it with the caffeine.
“I thought I felt 100% normal because I am back to normal.” I admit only to myself. “I just need tweaking to get back on my feet.” I ignorantly justify.
He reminds me feeling normal is our goal so every thing is working.
“Every thing is working?” I criticize him in my thoughts. “Nothing is working because nothing is wrong.”
Feeling deflated that I cannot take credit for my own happiness, I agree to continue the meds.
“Why do others observe me more accurately than I see myself?” I wonder as I drive home. “Why does my “normal” exist only through fabrication, and why am I the last one to see it?”
Despite not a cloud in sight, genetics remind me, dark days await if I don’t return to the pill box each morning. Happiness feels like mine, but my reality is, it’s a gift.
