For most people, perhaps it does. But for me, I'm not so sure. As I gaze at my life, I recognize that happiness should exist for me, but most of the time, it doesn't. Am I selfish? Am I expecting too much? Perhaps.
I expect to be happy, and I expect to surround myself in a world of content, only to be disappointed instead. I'm lucky to have a loving, supporting husband, and a healthy daughter who have both accepted my bipolar disorder without judgment and resentment, because they love me regardless. I know my outbursts have only saddened them, instead of angered them as most people would deal with such torment. For most families, I imagine this would only be the case. Not for me, however, so why can't I be appreciative instead of questioning the result of my happiness?
I know for one to ask if happiness exists is the million dollar question we all ask ourselves, if not an expectation we all want to grasp. With the fear of losing it all, I only want to be thankful for the support I have received instead of questioning it on a daily basis.
I've always believed—albeit wrongly—that happiness cannot and does not exist for me. Perhaps I'm being pessimistic, but in my heart, it can't. Can it? I look at people and their lives, their families, and their careers, and they all seem happy and satisfied. With me, I'm not so sure. I've had many jobs over the years and I honestly cannot think of one that I've been completely in love with. On the contrary, I've only felt dissatisfaction instead. With all of them.
How can that be? Is it so difficult to feel happiness and fulfillment? For most people, they would look down upon their lives and be thankful for everything they have been blessed with, whereas for me, I'm the opposite. It seems that my job situation won't escape me. I've had to go backwards instead of forward with my career. My current job isn't in my field, but only a job I've held for years as I battled my way through college. What is the point of my degree? Why did I bother? I've always been an advocate of the regurgitating effects of an education—that it's never a waste. But this time, I'm not so sure.
I'm lucky to have such a supportive family, that much I'm grateful for. But our finances and my job situation have hindered this feeling of satisfaction which continuously override the lack of happiness in my life. As I continue to daydream and wonder what life would be like without the worry of funds, I often wonder if we'll ever be financially secure in our lives, or are we destined to live the life of struggle as we wrestle our way through a web of destruction? I know I should be grateful for our lives and what we have with each other would be the easier way to go, instead of dreading on what we don't have, but instead, what we do have.
Most people say that money should not define us, but only to make us indebted to what we've been blessed with to make our lives that much easier. However, I always seem to battle with the continuous negative thoughts of unhappiness. We know that's not right, and we all know that money does not make us happy, but the jealousy of such a dream override my unhappy thoughts.
I know that one day, money will hopefully never be an issue—I pray for this on a daily basis, so how can it not? I won't give up on an incessant job search in hopes of a better way of life; to ensure my happiness with everything full circle in my life. In our lives. I will be adamant, therefore something will have to give way to my relentless forage of happiness if only to secure our finances. It must, or I will drive myself crazy with the possibility of an unsuccessful exploration of triumph; an effort and drive of love for that one perfect job. I know there's one out there, therefore I won't give up.
I must be positive.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Showing posts with label happy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label happy. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Monday, July 9, 2012
A pill a day helps keep the temper away
I've always had a temper, this much I admit. I take after my Italian father. Always have, always will. Now that he's gone, I'm proud of this trait from him. However, as long as it's under control, it's OK. Sometimes a temper can be a good thing—again, as long as it's under control and doesn't affect anyone around you, why not?
For me, my temper involves keeping myself on the up-and-up. Keeps me in control of my thoughts and my ideas. For the most part, I keep my temper bottled up inside of me, not on the outside.
Sound weird? For me, no. For others, possibly.
Most of the time, it's because my mind is racing with many thoughts, and I never know how to contain them. For example, this morning I'm feeling so creative and so inspired that I just can't control them. I've been writing them down all morning to keep them in check because I want to execute all of them, so I know in order to do so—and not forget these inspirations and ideas—I must do it this way. This was also recommended by my therapist as well as my "drug dealer" (my psychiatric nurse).
However, in the past year or less, my temper has escaped me—verbally and emotionally. I have been unable to restrict it, to the point that it has bled into my family as well.
This is not good.
As I was growing up, I witnessed my father's temper on many occasions, but as far as I know, he was not suffering from bipolar disorder. Just like me, he has never taken out this aggression on me or my brother physically. Is that an excuse for me? Maybe not, I don't know. But I do know this, I wanted it to stop and it had to stop immediately!
My temper mainly involved myself and nobody else. I was frustrated with everything and everyone around me. I was a walking time bomb waiting to explode. Instead, they mostly imploded inside of my body and my mind, until I decided to release them, thus affecting my family.
I wanted to hit the wall. I wanted to hit anything around me. Hence turning to hit myself instead. For me, at that time, I knew if I didn't hit myself, who knows who I would have hit in retaliation of my soul. During that time, that was a safe alternative for me.
It had gotten so bad, that I contemplated—not acted out—thoughts of suicide. I wanted the pain to end and it needed to end STAT! I didn't know what else to do. I was desperate.
Hitting myself was the safest way to act out, this much I know, but I was depressed and I was frustrated. Frustrated to the extent of sadness and an eternal episode of crying and internal mourn.
As the months progressed and quickly passed me by, I knew I needed to do something drastic so I could change my actions, for my family's sake.
What turned into weeks felt like an eternity for me. We were all anxious for me to get better and move forward with my life, so thankfully because my unemployment benefits were in full force, I was able to collect a 'paycheck' as I continued to try and get healthy. We all felt that during that tumultuous time in my life, holding a job would have been near impossible. I was very lucky.
After I had my first few appointments, I was on my way to getting my health and my sanity back—no pun intended. I was optimistic.
A few weeks later, my medication was starting to work and I immediately noticed that my agitation and temper had almost completely subsided. I was relieved! Life was looking a lot brighter for me. But I still had a long way to go. I never gave up and I never wanted to stop going to my regular therapy appointments and seeing my "drug dealer." I knew it was a huge step in the right direction for me.
Today I can proudly say that my temper has almost disappeared. Although I did have a blip a few weeks ago—nothing to the magnitude of my regular episodes as before—am I almost free of my grumpy irritability.
Thank you to my "drug dealer" for making me better!
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
For me, my temper involves keeping myself on the up-and-up. Keeps me in control of my thoughts and my ideas. For the most part, I keep my temper bottled up inside of me, not on the outside.
Sound weird? For me, no. For others, possibly.
Most of the time, it's because my mind is racing with many thoughts, and I never know how to contain them. For example, this morning I'm feeling so creative and so inspired that I just can't control them. I've been writing them down all morning to keep them in check because I want to execute all of them, so I know in order to do so—and not forget these inspirations and ideas—I must do it this way. This was also recommended by my therapist as well as my "drug dealer" (my psychiatric nurse).
However, in the past year or less, my temper has escaped me—verbally and emotionally. I have been unable to restrict it, to the point that it has bled into my family as well.
This is not good.
Although verbally I have taken it out on my daughter many times, she hasn't judged me for this behavior—for now. I've never hurt her, nor will I ever, but acting this emotion out on her is something I will always regret. She is a strong girl and will most likely grow into a strong woman as a result of this—am I proud? absolutely not—but no child should ever have to endure the verbal pain that I have caused her.
As I was growing up, I witnessed my father's temper on many occasions, but as far as I know, he was not suffering from bipolar disorder. Just like me, he has never taken out this aggression on me or my brother physically. Is that an excuse for me? Maybe not, I don't know. But I do know this, I wanted it to stop and it had to stop immediately!
My temper mainly involved myself and nobody else. I was frustrated with everything and everyone around me. I was a walking time bomb waiting to explode. Instead, they mostly imploded inside of my body and my mind, until I decided to release them, thus affecting my family.
I wanted to hit the wall. I wanted to hit anything around me. Hence turning to hit myself instead. For me, at that time, I knew if I didn't hit myself, who knows who I would have hit in retaliation of my soul. During that time, that was a safe alternative for me.
It had gotten so bad, that I contemplated—not acted out—thoughts of suicide. I wanted the pain to end and it needed to end STAT! I didn't know what else to do. I was desperate.
Hitting myself was the safest way to act out, this much I know, but I was depressed and I was frustrated. Frustrated to the extent of sadness and an eternal episode of crying and internal mourn.
As the months progressed and quickly passed me by, I knew I needed to do something drastic so I could change my actions, for my family's sake.
What turned into weeks felt like an eternity for me. We were all anxious for me to get better and move forward with my life, so thankfully because my unemployment benefits were in full force, I was able to collect a 'paycheck' as I continued to try and get healthy. We all felt that during that tumultuous time in my life, holding a job would have been near impossible. I was very lucky.
After I had my first few appointments, I was on my way to getting my health and my sanity back—no pun intended. I was optimistic.
A few weeks later, my medication was starting to work and I immediately noticed that my agitation and temper had almost completely subsided. I was relieved! Life was looking a lot brighter for me. But I still had a long way to go. I never gave up and I never wanted to stop going to my regular therapy appointments and seeing my "drug dealer." I knew it was a huge step in the right direction for me.
Today I can proudly say that my temper has almost disappeared. Although I did have a blip a few weeks ago—nothing to the magnitude of my regular episodes as before—am I almost free of my grumpy irritability.
Thank you to my "drug dealer" for making me better!
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
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