Deep down I know I am a good mom, and wife. But If only I believed it. Being bipolar means I feel things ten times more than the average person, I see things differently, colors are vibrant, dull. The world is beautiful and scary. There is this extreme in me that shouts from the rooftop and cries in the caves. My daughter is the reason I love and live. she has given me reason to believe I am ok because I have to be ok. She has seen me at my worst which is something I would never wish on anyone to see. she has found me crying on the bathroom floor, rocking back and forth asking for it to end. She is an amazing creature that I birthed and i believe that she will be an amazing person the older she gets full of empathy and wise beyond her years because she has had to deal with me.
My husband is my rock, he understands me somehow maybe not fully but he tries so hard. He is my first line of defense in this ugly world. I know he doesn’t need me, but I love him so unconditionally it hurts, He must never know I need him survive. He sends m flowers when I least expect it, texts me with kind words of hope, hugs me when i need hugs and just lays there when all hope is gone. He has been exhausted at 3 am and allows me to hold on to him as I cry myself to sleep. I could not have wished for a more magical man than I have.
This blog is written for my daughter. Maybe one day she will find peace knowing that her mother loved her very much but was horrible at being a mother. Even though I say that my bipolar disorder dos not define me my bipolar disorder defines who I am and at times. It can be debilitating and down right nasty and there are days I wish I was dead just because I felt I was a burden to my family.