Tears ran down my face like tiny rivers rushing to an unknown destination. My face was pressed against the window, waiting for one final glimpse of my children. My breath made circles of fog that obstructed my vision in the cold, January, morning air. I felt that if I could only see them one more time, I would be assured of seeing them again.
Slowly the doors closed and I held myself in my seat, knowing that if I allowed myself to think one single, fleeting thought, I would rush out of this airplane, back to my safe, but insane world.
I sat back in my seat, still gripped with fear. My brain began to whirl as the sound of the engines picked up speed below me. Every attempt at quieting my thoughts was much the same as standing before a thundering herd of horses bent on their own destination, and willing the thundering herd to stop.
I knew without a doubt in the small part of my rational mind that remained, that I was sitting in the exact place where God wanted me to be. Yet, the whirlwind of fear continued to envelope me. My thoughts returned to the blackness of a few nights before. The decision to make this trip had been difficult. Years of wild, chasing of ever, distant winds, frequent, feeble attempts at solving my problems had led to this moment. All had been just as futile as standing before the ever present, herd of racing horses.
In the air now, my silent weeping had ceased and I ran the events through my mind. Growing up in a dysfunctional home where arguments were loud, tension was prevalent and the fear of fierce reprimand a constant shadow did very little to build self-esteem and confidence.
Being tall and thin with thick, studious glasses and protruding front teeth and overbite led to thoughtless ridicule from schoolmates. At the tender age of 13, I was noticed by a boy. I thought this was true love. I soon found my heart broken and my virtue shattered.
For the next decade, my attempts to find love and acceptance were shattered by men bent on their own agenda. Soon I had two small children and an alcoholic husband. My dreams lay in a fragmented heap. My marriage was over. My only recourse was to divorce my abusive and wayward husband.
Through my pain and anger I had one constant friend. My sister who is only a year older than I. Mom dressed us alike, and as children we were always together. Adulthood was not much different. She has a loving marriage to her best friend and first love. My own dreams of marital bliss had been elusive.
The shreds of my existing world crumbled as my best sister and her husband packed their three children into a truck and moved 400 miles away. I wanted to move also, but my situation would not allow it. I knew this was the best thing for them, but I missed them terribly
I felt as though Jesus had walked away from me for a very long time. I begged Jesus to come, to end all of this. I could no longer function. I knew I needed to reach out to someone. I prayed, "Lord, show me who can help me"!
I called the EPA (Employee Assistance Program) that represented the company I worked for. They sent me to a counselor in my area. I hoped she would have the answers to my problems. Her answer was a recommendation for 28 days, in-house treatment. I was stunned, I really was crazy. I told her "NO, I couldn't leave my job, my children or anything else, and I sure wasn't going to go get locked up". After all, the holidays were nearly here. I didn't want to be gone over Christmas. She assured me this wasn't a lock-up. That there were other people like me that needed help working their problems out. I was certain that there was no one like me.
One night as I lay in bed, unable to sleep, the question would not leave my mind. I knew I should go. A soft voice spoke to me. "Do you really want to spend the rest of your life like this?"
"No, of course I didn't, but who would take care of the children?"
Quietly the voice said "don't you think I can take care of the children". At that moment I knew that MY will must give in to God's. The next morning I called my counselor and told her that I would go.
Now, two days later this airplane was landing on a foggy, rainy afternoon in Tulsa, Oklahoma. I was met at the airport by a little old man, holding a sign that said "Cedar Vale". In his old car, he took me to the place that would change my life.
At the hospital, I was surprised to find that there were no bars on the windows or doors, and no straight jackets, so far so good. A nurse showed me to my room and helped check in and inventory my belongings. She took my razor, nail polish and remover, finger nail files, basically anything that I might use to hurt myself. There were rules, like guys and girls couldn't go in each other's rooms. We had to check in with the staff before going anywhere. But, the rules, all made sense. I wasn't a prisoner after all!!! After my things were put away she gave me a blue card and said "it's dinner time, let's eat". In the dining room she introduced me to my roommate and some of the other patients. A quick survey found no one with wild eyes, matted hair or a straight jacket. Slowly I began to relax.
Our days consisted of morning groups after breakfast, lunch, afternoon groups, evenings were spent at the spa playing walley ball, long hours talking sharing our lives or reading. I was very depressed, I missed my kids terribly and found it hard to function.
One night they held a graduation. Two or three of the patients were going home, and we were all invited to attend. We sat in a circle and passed a coin, as each person got the coin they told of something they had shared with the person graduating. They talked of deep friendships, late night talks, how something this person had said had made such a difference in their recovery. The things they were saying sounded an awful like BS to me. I decided that I would graduate, but I wouldn't believe anything anyone said.
One morning, about ten days after I got there, I awoke and felt this strange joy in my heart, for the first time in my life I could hardly wait to get up. I actually liked the people that were around me. Every week some graduated, and new ones came in. I started adding things to the graduation ceremonies, and I cried when some left. I felt such a kindred spirit with those I had only known a few days. We shared a bond that could never be broken.
Still, I trusted no man, and questioned all intentions. If a guy asked for a hug, I assumed he wanted something else. For the first time in my life, I didn't suspect a man every time he asked for a hug, and it felt really good to get a hug with no strings attached.
I have always gone to church. Mainly because I should! I never felt like I belonged there. On Sundays we went to church. Our search brought us to the "First Christian Church"! In this church I felt the nudge of the Holy Spirit, and the love of God from a church body for the first time in my life.
The days flew by, I was smiling most of the time, amidst groups that were difficult as I talked about my divorce from a man I loved, he just couldn't let go of alcohol. A frequently lonely and scary place called my childhood. During my teenage years, I had felt adrift in a harsh and uncaring world. Seeking something, love, acceptance, I'm not sure.
I allowed myself to talk about being raped at age ll, by a kid that I actually had a crush on. He was four years older, I looked up to him, I respected him. No he didn't beat me, or tie me up. He took more from me than my innocence, he took my trust, my belief that people are good. I had blamed myself for so long. I carried a shame and sadness that was not mine. In this place I forgave myself, realizing I was not to blame.
I began to feel safe here, that it was OK to share my feelings, that I wouldn't be laughed at, or called stupid. I wouldn't be called a slut or a whore for some of the things that had happened to me. I was loved unconditionally, job didn't matter, social status was non-existent. I sat next to doctors, lawyers, factory workers, it didn't matter. We were all the same. We all needed to reach out. For the first time in a long time I cried, God was with me, and I needed to be here, if I wanted to get better. And I did.
I met a man there, but this time, he was my friend. He was a drug addict and an alcoholic, we shared an understanding, a friendship, this was different from what I was used to. I have lost track of him, but I'll always hold a special place for him in my heart. I thank him for all he did, for teaching me how to be "just" friends with a man"!
They told me this was the tip of the iceberg and when I went home I would crash in 30 days, and 60 and so on. But, if I kept at it, the crashes would get further apart and my road to recovery would get easier. That recovery is a journey, not a destination.
My time was up, graduation day was here. I sat and listened to people tell of times we had talked until the wee hours of the morning, things I had said that had made a difference in their lives. My life had touched theirs, and theirs had touched mine. That night we stood together, in a group hug singing "Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me! I once was lost but now am found, Was blind but now I see." (John Wesley) In 28 short days, 900 miles from home, my life had been changed forever. At that moment, I was home.
Once again I pressed my nose against the window to get one last glimpse of the hospital. Everyone was in group, last good-byes had been said and I was going home. Tears ran down my face, rushing like tiny rivers to an unknown destination. A part of my heart stays in a small town in Oklahoma and will remain there. The friends I made while I was there, will always remain anonymous, but, they will always be a part of me.
As the plane landed, the ground rushed up to meet me, as did many memories and thoughts of responsibilities un-tended. I prayed that someday my children would understand why I left. That this was necessary for me to be whole.
The doors opened as I walked into the airport. With a bang my life burst upon me once again. The chatter of my children was a welcome sound to my ears.
At treatment we attended 12 Step Meetings. We talked about a feeling in your life, kind of a perfect euphoria called being on a "pink cloud"! My life resumed as though nothing had happened, now I knew what a pink cloud was, I felt like I didn't have any problems. I was on top of the world.
The jolt of reality soon hit hard, as emotions tumbled over and over as water crashing down the rapids, they reach the bottom of a hill as I crashed! I couldn't go back to the church I had grown up in. I had tried, I felt as if I was in a dungeon screaming for air. Total panic took over my soul. I had never measured up, and I never would! I had been trained that if I didn't go to "THIS" church, I was going to Hell.
One day my frustration was overwhelming, I had seen a sign about another job making more money than I did, and it angered me. I was qualified, and this job had many of the same qualifications as mine, yet it paid considerably more. Much of it was simply the title. I went to my boss. Pacing the floor of his office, I ranted and raved about the unfairness of it all. My boss was a very patient man, and he tried to talk to me.
Slowly, I sank into a chair, knowing full well, that it didn't matter how much money I made, there would still be a problem until my life changed.
"I know this isn't the problem, I can't go to my church, it hurts too much."
"Go with us, God loves you no matter where you go!" He asked if I was saved, and I wasn't sure, so he shared the bridge illustration with me, and through my tears, I asked Jesus to come into my heart. I walked out of his office with a much lighter step and, peace in my heart.
The following Sunday I went to church with my boss and his family. They were so good to me, and I felt like I owed them so much. As I walked through the doors, I
prayed "Lord, if it's wrong for me to be here, please show me." I felt nothing but peace and happiness for being there. I went forward, proclaiming my Faith in Jesus, and asked to be baptized. This time, I knew why, it wasn't like I had before, then I went forward because everyone else did. Easter Sunday, 1991. I was baptized.
I am so thankful that my boss and his wife allowed God to use them. I had seen them as better than I, like the people at my other church had made me feel. But, they were human, just like me. No better, no worse, just human. I was beginning to realize that I didn't feel like I belonged because of my own issues, not necessarily because of how others looked at me.
As the months went by, my desire for a partner grew. Knowing that I typically chose the wrong man to be in a relationship with, I asked God for guidance. My prayer was a simple one. "Lord, if you want a man in my life, please put him on my doorstep, because I am not looking for one."
I went on with my life, my friends, my activities. For the first time I felt at peace. By now I was involved in two churches, they were both Christian, so similar in many ways, yet very different. My best friend and I went to Sunday school at one, and church at the other.
I had met this friend because of my own jealousy. I was going out with this guy. I saw her talking to him, and she was the beautiful new girl. Instantly I panicked, "he's going to dump me for her, I know it". Before the day was out, God convicted the jealousy in my heart. Tearfully, I told her my thoughts, she started laughing and I must have looked startled, because she explained. "I did that once, funny thing is, my friend did leave me for the other woman, they ended up married."
That guy did leave me for another woman, and he married her to. It wasn't my best friend, but she was there for me.
At Bible studies I met eligible men, but I made no effort to get to know any of them. I was still standing on my prayer for God to put a man on my doorstep.
I came home one evening to find a note and a red carnation on my door. They were from a very nice man I had met at church. Asking me to come meet him at a local restaurant. I did, after that we spent two hours walking through my neighborhood, talking.
In the following weeks, he called daily, he came by my house frequently. He was frequently, "on my doorstep."
August 1, 1992 he asked me to marry him. I quickly said "yes". We had a very short courtship, I was crazy in love with him, and he with me.
The next five months were busy with wedding plans. December 19, I became Mrs. Scully. We went to Pagosa Springs for our honeymoon. We took a day trip on the narrow gauge train to Silverton. The snow on the peeks was majestic.
It had been almost two years, since I had first begun counseling. Our life was wonderful. At the treatment center my counselor had told me that my scores on the MMPI (a test given to determine where you are when you enter some types of counseling), indicated that I had manic tendencies. I had no idea what that meant. The storms brewing on the horizon were un-detected, my life was perfect.
We settled into married life happily. I thought that since God had put us together, that we wouldn't have any major problems, and life would be wonderful.
My husband was thoughtful, attentive and seemed to put me on a pedestal. Just about anything I wanted was mine. If I came home from work with sore feet, he put me in a nice warm bath while he cooked dinner. He helped around the house and with the kids. We shared chores, cooking, cleaning, laundry. It seemed too good to be true.
The cycles that would attack like a twister, throwing us about, breaking our bonds like an old house. Bipolar hits like a tornado, throwing the splinters of my life around with no warning! Leaving my husband standing in shock, trying to grasp what had happened. The woman that he knew, he loved, he vowed his life to, was gone. There is nothing that remains the same, a personality so totally different.
And I, a shred of what I once was. Carried with the howling wind, unaware of the devastation to come, I fell into the trap of blaming the innocent. Myself unaware that so much had changed. My life, gone forever, tossed like a rag doll. Ripped to shreds by a force I never saw coming, could not have foreseen, yet, I have lived with the consequences to this day.
Slowly depression seeped back into my bones. I had changed jobs two years earlier, many bosses later, I ended up with a tyrant for a boss. I was written up every few weeks because I did not know how to run a difficult computer program for the warehouse. Training had been promised from day one, but, had never been delivered.
He asked me daily if "I was stupid or what"? This was devastating and my self esteem rapidly dwindled, memories of similar accusations from elementary school haunted me, maybe they were all right! He would tell me, I couldn't do anything right, and that he had to hold my hand through everything. I could no longer tell the difference, I questioned everything, every move I made. I questioned my very ability to do this job, a job very similar to the one I had done for three years and gotten such high marks for.
Poor evaluations, constant belittling, and self doubt were tearing me apart, my self-esteem was in a shambles. I knew he treated everyone bad, but still, I took it personally.
In May, I quit my job, wanting to spend more time with my children. An elusive dream of mine. Hoping the depression would go away too. It didn't.
My husband is a school teacher, he was working on his minor in history. That summer he was gone for five weeks. A tree fell into our corn field. With chain saw in hand, I cut it up and cleared the field. Many more things happened, and by then the depression had a death grip on me. I was angry at my husband, I felt abandoned once again. I was losing my ability to tell what was truth and what wasn't. I lashed out at whoever was closest. My husband was closest!
At first my husband had not wanted a child, and I did. Finally I gave up and said "Lord, if you want this child to be born, you talk to him, because he's not listening to me." Late that summer my husband walked in and wrapped his arms around me, "let's have a baby". My heart nearly stopped, I was no longer certain I wanted a baby. Thinking quickly I decided that a baby could pull me out of the doldrums, so I said yes.
Very soon, our baby was on its way. I was in tears constantly, and frequently stared out the window looking at nothing. A dead emptiness in my distant eyes. I complained constantly to my friend. Being a nurse, she tried to help, but nothing made any difference. I was losing sight of everyone and everything. All I could see was what "I" felt, saw, perceived. That perception was very clouded!
As my pregnancy progressed, so did my depression, spiraling down into inky blackness, hopelessness and despair. My husband did everything he could to make it easier on me. I didn't cook, I didn't clean, I mainly sat in my chair while I let him do everything. Staring out the window with the blank stare of a dead person. My husband was understandably concerned.
He assigned chores to the kids, hoping for at least a little help. I ignored complaints, blaming my husband for these problems. My children were not very cooperative.
As my fifth month approached, tensions were high, and my kids were complaining more and more about chores. Looking back I knew my husband was becoming increasingly frustrated. And my kids continued to complain. I neither heard, nor saw much of anything that was happening. One morning the pains in my stomach were unmistakable. I was in labor.
Rushing to the hospital, I was in a panic. I was losing my baby, and I was terrified. I was sent to the maternity ward, and soon my doctor was there, grave concern written all over his face. My husband works 45 miles from home, but soon he was there too.
Once my labor had been stopped. My doctor came in and sat down, he looked straight at me and said. "What is wrong you look depressed, are there problems at home?"
My face reddened as I mumbled, "yeah some, but not too bad".
"You don't go into labor, over not too bad. I'm putting you on a mild anti-depressant, it is safe for the baby, so don't worry about that."
I was definitely worried about my baby, I was scared. My friend the nurse had already talked to me about anti-depressants. I didn't get terribly upset. Actually I was relieved. With pills in hand I went home, with a determination that things would be better.
For the rest of my pregnancy they were better. My husband was relieved to have his Wife back. The kids were unhappy, but I still couldn't deal with it. When they came to me and complained I panicked. I didn't want to get into a fight, and I thought they needed to get used to it. I would attempt to talk to my husband, but we always ended up in an argument, nothing I said ever quite came out right, but I really didn't want to deal with it, and attempts to talk didn't end well. It was easier to avoid the situation.
Once again I felt like my old self, the depression was gone. I breathed a sigh of relief, went on with my life and waited for my baby's arrival. Early summer 1994, after a very difficult labor and delivery. Our son was finally here. Daddy carried him up and down hospital corridors showing him to everyone. Proudly saying, "look at my son"!
He was beautiful, our home was busy. Daddy changed as many diapers as I did. My Mother-in-law came to help, she is a sweet, unassuming woman, and I was so glad she was there. She took care of things, helped with the baby, and made our transition so much easier. I will always be thankful to her. My own Mother was in the Intensive Care Unit with Pancreatic Cancer, we prayed for her daily, but she would not be able to help this time. Thankfully, with the Lord's Grace she went home, and is now cancer free.
Soon my doctor wanted to take me off the anti-depressant to see how I would do. I agreed, I was sure I was OK. For a couple of months I was. Then I started to slide again, down that slow spiral, into inky blackness.
I knew my daughter was unhappy, but I didn't want to deal with it. I had a new baby and I was depressed again. She wanted to go live with her Dad, and I finally let her. I was certain she would be back in a few weeks. I wasn't worried.
Slowly the realization sank in, she wasn't coming back. "If we hadn't made her do all those chores, she would still be here", I was sure of it. At her Dad's she didn't have to do anything.
Frequent phone calls punctuated those feelings. Family members told me that my husband was abusing her, and if I was any kind of Mother at all, I'd get out of there, get all of the kids out, and my daughter would come back. If I had asked questions, checked things out, I would have found no abuse at all! I did not ask my daughter until years later. She assured me that abuse had never happened. But I didn't, and I thought of nothing else. If I didn't leave, I was a horrible Mother! Mid summer 1995, I moved out. I felt if I didn't, I would be abandoning my child.
My depression had hit an all time low. I woke up one morning unable to move, tears streaming down my face. I called a friend. She came and got me, and took me to the Emergency Room. I was terrified, I didn't want to be there, but was unable to function or think clearly. She had called my husband and he met us at the Emergency Room. I lay there in a fog as four doctors stood around my bed discussing my condition. It was unanimous, I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, admitted to the Crisis Observation Unit, and put on medication again.
I did OK for a few weeks, and then once again, I was on the Crisis unit. I was out in a few days, and I made it five weeks before I was once again in crisis. My daughter had not done something the second I told her to, and I exploded, I was screaming at her and in a rage. Suddenly I stopped and looked at my terrified child, the knowledge that I put her in this state of terror was more than I could handle, I stormed out of the room, picked up something off the floor and threw it against the wall. I missed the wall and shattered the window. Slowly I sank to the floor.
"What was wrong with me?" Quietly my son sat down beside me. He had put the baby in his crib and came to check on me. He was eleven years old.
I said "I need help, call Dad and my best friend, I need to go back to the hospital." Within two days I was on a critical mental health ward, in a city 200 miles away.
By then I was good at pretending everything was OK, or flying on mania I'm not sure. And it worked for awhile, but it was only temporary. The Psychiatrist couldn't figure out why I was there, he told me there was nothing wrong with me, took me off of my meds and sent me home. I was thrilled, I was OK, those other doctors were wrong! While I was there I picked up a coping habit. I, the one who had spearheaded the campaign to rid my office building of cigarette smoke. I was a smoker now too! I would eat crow for that one later!
I was fine, I went home, moved back with my husband, and decided to take some classes, I could not concentrate, and remembered nothing and dropped out of class. My mind was racing so fast I couldn't keep up. Ideas were racing in and out of my head. So fast I couldn't keep track of them, neither could anyone else. I was spending money and way out of control.
Ideas raced through my head, I thought I had come up with the best one. It was a custom sewing and alterations shop. Quickly business was booming and, I had plenty of work. What I didn't realize was that I was manic, and deep depression always follows a sky high mania.
I became more and more erratic, spending money like there was no end. I had so many un-finished projects I didn't know where I was. My husband tried to talk to me, but I wouldn't listen. I sold my house, and he wanted to pay off bills. But, I had other plans and as usual, I did as I pleased. $12,000 was gone in two months. He also wanted to save some out for taxes on the house. I ignored him.
I still had the thought in the back of my mind that I needed to move out, so my daughter would come back home, after I got my daughter back, I was sure I could work out things with my husband. My anguish and grief over her absence was killing me. I blamed my husband for my pain. I thought of nothing else! Before long, I moved out again!
My shop was piled with work. Enough for two people. I functioned less and less. Sitting amidst piles of orders. Lead coursed through my veins once again. I was unable to move. Sitting in my chair, tears flowing down my cheeks, I called my doctor.
I was not certain I could even drive. This breakdown was the worst one yet. Slowly I made it to the door of his office. Someone met me there, I'm not even sure who.
In the hospital again, I knew that the original diagnosis was definitely correct. This breakdown would keep me from working for a very long time!
Much of my memory over the next 3 1/2 yeas is gone. I do remember some things, most of which I wish I did not.
I went on welfare and was able to move into low income housing. I wasn't handling things well. I took my medication when I remembered it. Which wasn't often.
I had bounced several checks previously. Lack of money and the fact that I didn't really care meant those checks were never paid! I didn't think they would ever do anything about it, and if they did, they would never catch me, I moved around too much.
One night I called the police to check on a friend of mine, as I had not heard from her. The police came and they started asking ME questions. They had run my name through NCIC and two warrants came up for issuing bad checks! I had gotten a letter months earlier telling me that the District Attorney was now handling this. But, I didn't have any money, and it was soon forgotten.
Panic burned up the back of my neck. I tried to talk to them, but trying to talk a cop out of a warrant is like trying to talk a hungry dog out of the last bone. It won't happen, so don't even try. I'm sure a cop would get in big trouble for not exercising a warrant when they are supposed to!.
He was kind enough to let me take my son to a neighbors and call his Dad to come and get him. I wanted to change my pants, but until they discovered the bathroom had no windows they would not let me do that, as there were no female officers with them.
I was escorted by two police men to the car. They did not let me out of their sight for a second. It began to dawn on me, that I was a criminal. I thought they might trust me a bit since they had not put cuffs on me yet. Once I reached the car, I knew they didn't. At the car, they formally arrested me, put cuffs on me and I got into the back of the cruiser.
Sobs shook my body as reality sunk in. I had never feared the police. Many years working as a waitress, I had gotten to know many of them. I didn't fear them now. I could not blame them for doing their jobs. I was definitely a criminal!
Our destination, that night, the city booking room and jail. I was formally charged with Two Felony counts of Issuing a Worthless Check! The jail was busy as I was ushered in. Standing amidst drunks, thieves, prostitutes and who knew what else. My sobbing continued as I took in my surroundings.
Through sobs, hiccups and near hysteria I answered the booking officers questions. She asked if I was on any medications. I listed my meds, her pen stopped in mid air. Wide eyed she stared at me. "I'm Bipolar", clarifying the reasons for my medications. I could see panic register on her face.
"Don't move, I'll be right back"!
I nodded, it was beyond me where she thought I might go! With people in handcuffs everywhere, and twenty uniformed police officers between me and the nearest exit. Making a break for it was not an option! I assumed she thought I was crazy. I was a little crazy, but not that crazy!!!
Soon she returned. After finishing the paperwork, I was fingerprinted. She put me in a holding cell. The door clanged shut, just like the movies. I was a prisoner in jail, my home a six foot square room with bars on it.
The tears continued to fall, my head resting heavily on my chest. I could not believe that this was happening to me. That I had sunk so low, as to become a common criminal.
Out of curiosity, I glanced out from behind my bars. A man was staring at me. In a drunken gait he stumbled over to me. What he said totally floored me. "Don't worry Hon', you'll get used to it. I've been arrested sixteen times, you get used to it after awhile!"
My eyes widened in shock. I turned my back to him. Through more tears I prayed that I would "NEVER" get used to this.
I had my one phone call, and soon they came to tell me my Mom had bailed me out of jail. Walking to the parking lot she was yelling at me, asking me why I hadn't taken care of this by now? I turned on her, screaming that I would just walk home. Using language I never thought myself capable of. I must have sunk very low, or literally lost my mind. I had never in my entire life talked to my Mom like that. My Mom is not violent, never was. But, she can stop you in your tracks with a word, a look or just one raised eyebrow! I did what I was told and got into the truck.
As I got out of the truck at my house, I tearfully begged her to never tell anyone, not even one soul that this had happened! She agreed.
Later, I found out that she had hit a deer on the way home that night. She was OK, but the truck was dented some. I really felt bad!
I kept every court date, and did everything I was supposed to. I borrowed the money for restitution and court from my Mom. It was paid back very quickly. Soon, I walked out of the court, with the charges taken care of, and reduced to a misdemeanor. I still have a record, but it isn't for a felony! I even went and checked to see if there were any checks still out there that I had forgotten. I NEVER want to go through this again.
I really tried to do better after that. No credit cards, no checks, cash only!
That summer my Social Security came through. A long with it, was my back pay. You would think I had learned my lesson on paying bills. I didn't!
In no time I was broke, I had begun so many projects, I could not finish them, half of them, I had not gotten everything I needed to finish them, it did not matter. I couldn't remember where I was. My house was a shambles, feelings of hopelessness settled in, and I couldn't even remember what my original plan had been.
I had made friends with a woman that drank excessively, and I joined right in. My house was a shambles, you couldn't see the floor for the filth. My dogs were not house trained and it showed, EVERYWHERE! I allowed my son to have a beer now and then, and life was one big party. One night my friend and I got crossways. She was drunk, and I didn't think she should drive so I called her husband. She was angry and vowed to get even. She threatened to call Social Services on me.
I was not totally surprised when Social Services knocked on my door. Along with the Sheriff. She had accused me of throwing parties for minors. I admitted to letting my son have a beer now and then, but I had never thrown parties for minors, and that was the truth. Thank God I had not stooped THAT low. They believed me, and I was not arrested. I didn't want to go back to jail. I think I would've rather have gone to jail. They took my kids away from me until I could get my filthy house cleaned up. I was devastated.
Eight days later I got my kids back, my house was clean, and I vowed things would be different. It lasted for awhile, three weeks later I was out of the system and breathed a sigh of relief.
Soon after, my van blew the engine because the thermostat went out, and I didn't take care of it. I lost my van because I ignored an $8.00 part. Now I was afoot, and in late December Social Services was back. They didn't take my kids this time. My youngest son was with his Dad, and had been since the first of December. They ordered me to get help, and I voluntarily took my older son to my Mom's. Then I checked myself into the hospital again.
By mid-January I knew I was in serious trouble. I had taken my nieces to Albuquerque and my car had broken down. I was stranded in Albuquerque with three kids. I called my ex-husband to let him know what had happened, I began to cry as the story came out. He told me to call a Christian friend of his. I had always felt intimidated by them, because I am not missionary minded I guess. I knew I should call her. I finally did, and she came to see me. I was very uncomfortable, as I was staying at a guy friends house, and I didn't want her, or my ex to know. We talked like old friends and I was put at ease quickly. She is great, she brought me a gift of the Bible on CD, dramatized. It was such a beautiful gift, and I will always treasure it. We exchanged email addresses and still write.
I called my son to check on things, and he told me that my boss, the one who had led me to Jesus, nearly eight years before, was dead. It had been skin cancer last I heard, but it went inside, and now he is with Jesus. I sat on the floor and cried. I thought to myself, "what would he say if he saw me now?" He wasn't the type to judge, but still I knew I wasn't on the right road.
My sister-in-law came and got us and we went home. What I found at home would change my life forever.
My son and his friend had a party at my house while I was gone. There had been a fight and $500 worth of damage was done. This friend was 21, so I called the Sheriff and my caseworker from Social Services. I was given my options by the Sheriff, and my caseworker suggested I put my son in a shelter for teens with drug and alcohol problems. I called my ex-husband, he had adopted my son, and I wanted him to help make this decision. I knew I should never have kept my son away from his Dad, and I vowed to change that.
That night my son's friend came out to talk to me. I was honestly afraid of him so I called the Sheriff. The officer walked in and immediately asked me where my younger son was. I assured him he was with his Dad. It was the same officer who had come with Social Services the first time. He was rightfully concerned as the house was trashed once again!
As I stood there I looked at my son, his friend, and the officer, amidst the filth of my house. Reality finally sunk in, and I was mortified at what I saw. It was as though my eyes were finally opened! I knew that my bad decisions had put me there. I could not blame this one on anyone else. I was just as responsible as my son was for his drinking. I made a vow, that I would do everything in my power to make things different. No matter what it took! With God's help, I have.
We took my son to the shelter that night, his Dad and I. Our son was scared and prettymad at me for making him go, but after a discussion with the Sheriff's Deputy he went without any trouble.
This chapter begins the climb out of depression, to a much better place!
Daily I receive email from friends and family members who have loved ones who are Bipolar. What can I do? Why does he/she get mad when I ask if they have taken their meds? How can I help? I'm tired of cleaning u the messes, when is he/she going to stop this?
In dealing with my illness, and talking to many other people, I have learned so much. This chapter is for the family, the friends of anyone who deals with Bipolar Disorder. It is not an "individual" illness! I also include a "Letter To The One's I Love". This letter tells how "I" feel
Bipolar Disorder is a chemical im-balance in the brain that causes the patient to suffer from serious mood swings and erratic behaviour. They are called mania and depression.
This chapter discusses the clinical diagnostic criteria and information relating to Bipolar Disorder.
Do you want to live a better, healthier, more stable life? I don't know anyone who doesn't. It is possible! There is hope! I used these guidelines to get to a better place, and so can you!
What medications are you taking? It is very important that you understand how important it is for you to take your medications, EXACTLY as they are prescribed. Most medications take one to five weeks to reach a therapeutic level, they will not achieve the optimum level until that time has passed. If you take your meds for a few days and then stop taking them because "they are not working", remember, they have not reached their optimum level yet.
"I don't like talking to strangers! What good will it do to talk to somebody, they don't know me? I don't have the money for this!" These are all excuses I have heard for not going to a therapist. Now, let me tell you why a good therapist, is a GREAT idea!
What you eat, how much exercise you get, and how much sleep you get are important to living with this illness. After all, stability is the goal!
The sound of breaking glass assaulted my ears as I rounded the corner into my living room. There went another one of my favorite glasses. It had been hiding under a pile of papers and a load of laundry. Or what used to be a load of "clean" laundry, was now a load of dirty laundry.
I could not keep a clean house at all! Until one day, social services took my kids away because of this filthy mess. Now that I was properly motivated, I taught myself how. This method will work, if you work at it!
I am Bipolar, there is no doubt. I had trouble managing my money. I couldn't balance a checkbook, so I never did. Credit cards were soon maxed out, and then the bills started coming in. It got so bad, I ended up in jail over hot checks. I had to learn how to Budget! I am doing much better now. Here is what I did.
As I sit here contemplating the words that need to be on this page, I ask myself why am I doing this? My goal is to share what I ave learned, to let my readers know that there is hope! God is in control, if we'll just give Him the control, and trust Him! You can always trust Him, He will never fail you.
Sometimes I screamed at God, why did you have to let this happen to me???? Today, I thank God for this illness, without it, I would have missed so much! This chapter tells how I got from screaming anger, to thankful gratitude!
Anger only works so long, and in reality, it does not work at all. Anger eats at your insides, works at your brain, until you are a screaming, cursing maniac. If you are not the type to yell and scream, it will eat away at your insides. More lives have been ruined or lost because of anger, than any other reason. Anger quickly out of control.
Comments or questions? Drop me a note. LAST UPDATE June 2002