I live with bi-polar, depression, and OCD. It's not easy for me, or for those that love me. I don't work, I can't work. I would like to, most days, anyway. I used to work at a grocery store, and before that I worked at the morgue in the hospital. I liked working, I liked the way that it made me feel. I liked bringing home money, even if it was only minimum wage. I liked the feeling of helping people, and more than anything, working made me feel useful, productive, needed.
Most of my life, I have struggled with committment in various forms. It's difficult to say that 'YES, I will be there!' when you have a panic attack at the thought of getting on the bus. Sometimes, I can get on the bus, but then the panic sets in. How will I get OFF of the bus when it's packed? What if it's late, or I'm on the wrong one? Some days, I feel well enough to work, but I know that this feeling will only last for days, sometimes even hours. In fact, in the past year I have applied for jobs and volunteer positions. I even went through most of the training needed to work with Alzheimer's patients - my dream job. I did everything, until I had to spend an afternoon in a nursing home shadowing someone. It should have been no big deal. I did my PSW training at 3 different nursing homes. I just couldn't do it.
In fact, even though I graduated with honours, even though I loved working with the elderly, even though I felt better than I had in years, I still barely finished my course. I fell into a deep depression, and begged my teacher to let me drop out. Thankfully, they worked with me so that I could graduate. Becoming a PSW was the life long dream that I had always yearned for. I was helping people, and loving it.
So, I graduated, and that was almost 3 years ago. I wound up at the hospital within months of finishing, and I have been in limbo ever since.
Most days are a struggle for me. My manic days are now few and far between. I can't remember the last time that I truly felt good, or laughed and enjoyed myself. Maybe it was boxing day.
The truth is that I am hard to live with. I can not work, and most days I am lucky to make it into the tub before 1:00. I don't return phone calls, or leave the house on my own, or do housework. I see the way that the house looks, and it depresses me. I want to cry, and I usually do. I struggle to do the basics. I make Shawn a lunch, most everyday. I feed the dogs, do some laundry, and take care of the bunnies. I don't read the way that I used to, because my concentration isn't there. I forget things. Big things. I have plugged in the kettle, and left it to burn dry. I have forgotten appointments, and loathe the thought of even going to one.
I can not work, and it looks like I won't be working for quite sometime.
This can put a strain on any relationship. Apparently, it has put a big one on mine.
I don't know what to do. I am on a waiting list for a new Dr. Even when I do get a Dr., I won't have money for my meds. We can't afford that. I'm looking at a few hundred dollars a month....I was on 3 kinds of meds before, and they were still tweaking and perfecting it.
I feel so lost. If my relationship fails, I will be out on the street. That is the reality. I can not support myself, and even if I got disability, it can take years to kick in.
The truth is, I think that my relationship IS over. The whole truth is, I don't know if I care.