I was feeling pretty good this morning. I met with my Dr. about making some changes to my medications and he took me completely off the risperdal. For the first time in months I woke up clear headed and ready for work. Also there was such an overwhelming response to my blog yesterday, and all the ‘likes’ and uplifting comments went a long way with validation and support. I knew this was going to be a good day.
I was wrong.
By the time I got to work I could feel the grips of the depression taking hold. The closer I got the less energy I had, and by the time I got to my desk I was back to staring at my computer screen and completely unmotivated. I started going back through all the comments from yesterday and my mood started to lift again. Then we had our weekly department meeting. In the meeting I found out that they were bringing in someone new to take my position. So apparently I wasn’t being let go for a lack of work as I was told, I am being replaced. I had felt like the fact that they were keeping me on at all was a vote of confidence; apparently not. It has completely knocked the wind out of my sails. I don’t mean to whine about what could be considered petty and small, but what it really means to me is; being bipolar has cost me yet another job. I know I haven’t been working very hard being so depressed, but I really didn’t think anyone knew. For them to replace me however means that I’ve been found lacking. I’ve lost every job I’ve ever had for one reason or another relating to bipolar. Either I was let go for outrageous behavior or for a depressed lack of production, or I’ve quit in a grandiose belief that I was under appreciated and underutilized. They just didn’t accept the brilliance I have. Or so I think in a manic high. This job change falls right into the same old pattern.
Last night was the first time I met with a new Dr. During the intake process we went through my history, symptoms and treatment plan. Spelling it all out like that made me realize just how bad this disease really is. Apparently she thought so too, because she asked me several times if I wouldn’t be better off on Disability and not trying to work. Here was another vote of confidence.
The self doubt is back.
Maybe I am too ill to function in a normal environment. Every time I manage to get into a healthy and productive situation I eventually screw it up royally and lose it due to being bipolar. I can’t seem to keep it together more than a year before something bad eventually happens. This disease has complete control of my life.
But wait a minute.
There are skills that I have that have value. Maybe I don’t last as long as I’d like, but I do have the capability to being successful at least for a while. I am continuing to hone my treatment plan and hold on to the hope that eventually I’ll be able to manage my symptoms. If this illness truly did rule my life I wouldn’t be able to get anything done, much less what I’ve been able to accomplish.
I refuse to let this setback take away the progress I have started to make. As with anything, I have choices. Even if I have to take this position for a while, I can continue to look for more appropriate employment. I do believe that everything happens for a reason, and if it’s supposed to happen, it will. As long as I put the effort in, I’ll find that next job. In the meantime I’ll have something new to focus on as I learn my new duties that will help fill my days. In the last couple of days I’ve found that there are an awful lot of people in the same boat, or worse, than I am. I am not alone, and as a community we can offer love and support to one another. I have to believe that my words are being read by people in a much darker place than I am, and maybe if I can push through I can offer some hope to others.
I said it before; I have decided to live. Now I have to start living.