up again, down again, in again, out again

You would think after finding some medication(s) that works for you it'd be smooth sailing.

No.

Just no.

I'm still fairly new at this "being crazy and appropriately drugged" thing. I got a proper diagnosis less than a year ago. So I'm seriously not an expert, but I'm starting to think this might be a permanent work in progress.

Doctors warn you about this. In the beginning it's about finding the right meds and the right dosages. It's a roller coaster that sometimes feels worse then the illness itself.

When you finally get the mix right the relief is amazing. I'm not saying it's all roses and walks on the beach and laughing while eating salads with the family.

You still have bad days. You're allowed to have bad days. Sometimes I have bad weeks. It's okay.

Before I knew why I was such a mess when things got rough I just flailed around like a fish out of water. Things fell apart. How to you know to ask for help when you don't know that what you're experiencing is abnormal. It feels like asking for help when everyone else seems to handle their stress just fine would make you look weak and incapable.  (Here's a little hint: Everyone is a train wreck. No one has it perfect. Even the rich and famous. Just look at Kesha.)

It's a little extra hard when there are kids depending on you to keep going or when missing work is just not something you can do. Curling up under the blankets watching Parenthood on Netflix just isn't an option most of the time.

BUT:

 Sometimes we have no choice but bow out and admit a temporary defeat.

Sometimes we push through and make ourselves keep going.

Either way: We are brave. We are strong. We are fighters. We got this shit.

We're in this together.

*Disclaimer: Before anyone gets their panties in a bunch, I asked Al permission before writing this post. There is no way I would damage our relationship by writing about my perspective on his struggle without his approval.


Teenage and adolescent mental illness is bullshit. I don't mean that it doesn't exist, just that I really wish it didn't. In 2014 in the United States suicide was the SECOND leading cause of death in people age 12-18. (Source: 2014 CDC WISQARS)

There are some traits I'm so pleased to have passed down to Al. My blue eyes and great complexion. My love of music and good books. My inappropriate sense of humor. What I didn't expect or want to pass down was my shitty brain chemistry.

I struggled with depression (which was actually misdiagnosed bipolar ll) throughout my adolescence. I spent some time medicated for it. It didn't really make me feel better, just numb. So, you'd think with that background I would have picked up on the signs with my own kid. Nope. Add it to the list of things I've messed up as a parent which includes feeding Dot cheesecake for breakfast then abandoning her with Travis, leaving Cass alone with a sharpie, and telling Emie to shut up once.

After going through some rough, but fairly normal, teenage relationship struggles and acknowledging he was fighting a bigger internal battle we had been unaware of before then, it became clear that Al needed to see a professional. He filled out some questionnaires, we spoke with his primary care doctor together about our concerns, and he started medication with the understanding that therapy would happen too.

Now that he's properly medicated for what seems at this point to be clinical depression and is seeing a therapist Al is back to being the funny and bright kid I always knew was there.

From the time I got a diagnosis and started medication I have been extremely candid with my older kids about my broken brain. I told them what the diagnosis meant and what kind of medications I was going to be taking and their possible side effects. I warned them when I was altering dosage or adding a new medication in case I started acting differently so they could tell me I was being crazier than usual.

Perhaps my openness about my own struggles made it easier for Al to come to me when he realized he wasn't capable of dealing with things on his own anymore.

Some parents might disagree with that decision, but they aren't me. If I want honesty from my kids I need to show them what honesty looks like. I need them to know that sometimes honesty shows the less than perfect side of you and that it's okay.

Other members of my extended family struggle with being nuts. Those aren't my stories to tell, but the fact that it's not a secret from me or anyone else in our family is one of the things that taught me that to acknowledge your burden is to have people there to help lift some of it's weight when things get rough.

I hope I'm teaching my kids that honesty is a gift both to the person receiving it and the person giving it. I hope I'm teaching them that I'm a safe space. I hope I'm teaching them that being crazy may make things harder, but that it also makes you stronger. That you can live with it. That sometimes you can even laugh at it.

This is for me. And you. Maybe.

I've been thinking about starting this blog for a while. My own mental health struggles have started to seep over in to my kids/homeschooling/parenting blog. I want to try to keep these two kinds of musings separate or it might just end up sounding like I can't handle my kids or my family or my life or my dogs. All of which is true. Sometimes.

They are not separate things, though. Bipolar Disorder effects every aspect of my life from how capable I am of making dinner on any given day to whether or not I'm able to poop. (Thanks drug side effects.)

Writing about this part of my life feels important. Making it public feels like rebellion. I am living with mental illness. Putting that out there shouldn't feel any more uncomfortable than saying "I am living with diabetes." Except it does, mostly because I don't instantly hear "mental illness" in Wilford Brimley's voice and also because people don't generally make shit like this public.

Well some people do talk about mental illness. Mostly people with an actual platform to make actual change. Jarad Padalecki. Jenny Lawson. Wil Wheaton. Brooke Shields. Demi Lovato. Some of my dear friends speak openly in groups of friends about their struggles or post about it on social media.

There is a chance that this little blog might help someone. It could help someone find the courage to open up to a friend, partner, or parent about not feeling quite right. It could start them on a path to seeking help and getting treatment.

I hope that, if nothing else, this blog leaves someone feeling a little less alone in their brokenness.

So, here's me. Here are my guts and my brains and all the other goo that makes me up. Be gentle.

(This post took me almost a week to write. Because children. Also- this might come as a shock- I'm kind of a train wreck about 70% of the time so don't be surprised if posts come in weird bursts.)

**Insert witty and memorable sign off here**