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.
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