This was my view today when I got home from work as I lost control and started sobbing on the floor. It’s actually quite a common practice for me. I unload everything to Daisy, and she sits there, slowly blinking at me, passing no judgment.
I start with everything I’m failing at. I tell her all about the dishes in the sink I’m not doing, the laundry I’m neglecting, how I should be on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor making sure it’s spotless and smells perfect before Ben gets home. I tell her I should be wrapping presents that need to be wrapped. I should be working on my grooming bookwork. I should be messaging all of my friends and family, right now, just to check on them and make sure they know they’re loved. I should, I should, I should. But I can’t. I can’t because instead, I’m in a ball on the floor crying, shaking and trying not to puke.
Then I ask her if she can keep some secrets for me. Daisy is the best at keeping my secrets. I love her for that. She looks passively off into the kitchen, obviously ready for me to open my heart… or brain… maybe both? I tell her how I can’t look in the mirror today because the person looking back isn’t me. Its technical term is dissociation. Basically a total loss of identity and pretty common for bipolar people. I laugh and tell Daisy how it amazes me how attuned I can be to my madness yet still, I can’t escape it. She slowly blinks at me, letting me know she understands.
I tell her how angry I am that I’m bipolar. I tell her how infuriating it is to feel two opposites so strongly at the same time. Like how I want to move to a nicer house while at the same time not wanting to move at all. Or how I want to try and be social, nice, maybe even friendly, but now I can’t because I also equally want to stay inside and be alone. I tell her how I want solid friendship but how I know that isn’t possible for me.
Then I tell her the big one. I look at her, scared she might not handle it well. She blinks slowly, maybe even falling asleep at this point, letting me know it’s ok to continue. I tell her how I have been having passive suicidal ideations. I quickly tell her how I can’t talk about them to anyone because “I’ve been doing so good!” off of my meds. And how “I seem so much better! Maybe it was just the DEPO shot messing with your hormones! Maybe you’re better now!” I crumble slowly, probably loudly. I look at Daisy again through the tears and she is still there, slowly blinking at me. So I continue. I tell her how scared I am, how I want more than anything to be a mom but how impractical that feels sometimes. I tell her that my thoughts are quick and fleeting and that they’re nothing to be worried about. That I’m not suicidal, just scared. Sometimes it’s easier for my brain to say, “maybe everyone needs a break from taking care of you all the time.” instead of, “you pathetic, needy, piece of crap.” My mind is a battlefield and while I am surviving, sometimes I need to let it out.
Daisy does one of her long stretches, showing me her belly which means she wants food. I’m grateful for her patience so I pull my snotty, swollen-eyed self off the floor and giver her 5 (1 more than usual) treats for her kindness and friendship. Then she blinks at me one last time before trotting off to a different room. It’s as if she is telling me to move on now, you got it out, now keep going.
So I run myself a very hot shower and keep going.