OK, I will warn you, the following contents of this post may be difficult to comprehend, but in my heart, I truly hope you can empathize with my plight—especially if you yourself are also struggling with Bipolar Disorder. Please understand that this particular post will be very emotional for me, therefore it may take me a while to finish.
Here we go.
It started about 4 months ago. I started hitting myself in the frontal lobe of my head/brain. At first, it was purely out of agitation, but then it got worse. It turned into sadness and agitation at the same time. Clearly not a good mix of emotions. Sometimes, we do it not for attention—because most of the time, nobody was home while I was doing it—we do it because like my therapist told me, it's as though I am attempting to knock the thoughts out of my head. Really, is there any other explanation. For now, that was good enough for me since I continually blamed myself for being a "psycho" (excuse me for using this insensitive misused term).
Before I knew what was happening and the explanation of it all, I blamed myself. I kept thinking to myself Bipolar Disorder was a load of crap. Kind of like the whole "that won't happen to me" way of thinking, I never thought it would happen to me and it'd be completely within my control.
That's complete and total bullshit.
The last several months of my recent actions have proved otherwise.
As it started, I knew in my mind that something wasn't right, but I continued to do it over and over. As the days, weeks, and even months progressed, it was getting signicantly worse. To the point, I unfortunately worked myself up in this state of mania in front of both my husband and my 12 year old daughter.
Not good.
Of course, it freaked both of them out—to the point of being scared shitless. Can I blame them? Of course not. Had I seen either of them doing the same thing, I honestly don't know what I would do. My husband is my rock!
It's amazing the strength that came with hitting myself. My husband would attempt to restrain me so I would stop the hitting, only to push him away with such force, that he was taken back (no pun intended). Please understand, my husband is a very strong, in shape man. He bench presses 300 lbs, so for me to have the strength and ability to push him off me, came as a shock to him.
As it continued, it gradually got worse. I turned to using objects to hit myself, instead of the palm of my hands—always in the head in the same spot—to somehow make the impact harder, more of a statement. At least that's how I interpret it now that I look back (since the last time was only last week). I honestly don't know why I hit myself. My therapist asks me this regularly, but I can't seem to give her an answer. I only wish I knew the true answer, but I can't.
The worst was a little over a month ago. I gave myself two black eyes with a soda can while it was crushed, which left my forehead with many scratches—unexplainable scratches to my daughter, as well as the black eyes—try coming up with a lie for that one. With that same soda can I was able to give myself the two black eyes. Afterwards, I kept looking at myself in the mirror like I was a horror. A freak in a horror show.
That was the worst it got. Now don't get me wrong, my regular hitting sprees were more of bumps on my forehead and bruises on my wrists and on the side of my head. But this definitely was the clincher for me. The worst I had ever done. And please, don't misunderstand me as any form of hitting yourself is bad, it's not healthy and the fact that I was doing this to myself, definitely required immediate medical attention.
It's hard to reminisce about this as I sit down in front of my computer and type these words on screen. Reading them over and over as if I'm writing about someone else. Not me.
I even had to step away while I was writing this morning before I was ready to sit down and continue again. Writing this was a reminder, a reminder of what I have done to myself.
I never could understand why cutters cut themselves. I always thought it was their way of getting attention. Maybe for the most part, it was/is, but now that I have repeatedly hit/hurt myself in the head, I now know that for a lot of those cutters, that is most likely not the case.
I am done now. Finished talking about this—at least at this time. Maybe as I continue to write this blog, time will have passed, my medication will be working, and I can look back with pride; pride that I have overcome this illness. But for now, I am not there yet. I felt it was important to get it out there—even if I'm the only one reading it at this time.
A side note—If you do this to yourself—whether it's hitting, cutting, or anything similar, please see someone. It's your brain, the chemicals in your brain that is causing this. You're not a "psycho," as you're probably suffering from an illness like BD and the medication can and will help you. Obviously I am not a psychiatrist, psychologist or therapist, but obviously this behavior is not normal either—please see someone regardless!
Hang in there!
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