Dear Valerie,
I’m sorry I haven’t written lately. It finally happened, somehow I was blindsided by something I saw coming. Three weeks ago, I left for a family vacation. On my second day there I received a text from Danny, saying he couldn’t be with me due to my “family baggage and emotional trauma.” Three years over with a single text. As you know, this sent me on a downward spiral.
My first reaction was to beg for him to come back, and this happened to be a recurring theme throughout the last three weeks. One moment I was telling him he ruined my life and the next I was pleading for him as if he were the air in my lungs. Am I ashamed of this? Yes, but I do know that this was the greatest loss I’ve ever experienced and the lowest I have ever been.
For the first week, I couldn’t eat a thing. My family was begging me to try every day, and when I finally did, it came right back up. I was physically sick, and I lost 10 pounds in the first two weeks. The family vacation came to a halt when I begged to come home early. My dad was at home, so he came to get me.
The second week at home seemed amazing given the circumstances. I was working out in my room every day, but still barely eating. These were both partially in hopes of revenge. I wasn’t getting much sleep if any most nights of that week. One day I frantically re-learned the guitar, cleaned my room, made a collage out of magazine scraps, and danced around my room. I felt amazing.
But you know how quickly that changes. The next day, as I was dancing in the mirror like a fool, I looked myself in the eyes and started bawling. I screamed and cried out to release the repressed feelings from the week, but they took hold of me. Without a single thought, I reached for my antidepressants and swallowed a handful.
For about an hour I was fine, but then I started to feel woozy. Intense regret set over me, and I finally called my mother. She was on her way home immediately. When she got home, we quickly left for the ER. On the way there, I began to think I had overreacted and that we should turn around. I turned my head and expressed this to my mother. She looked at me with tears in her eyes and said “Valerie, you just had a seizure.”
This was one of the lowest moments of my life. Not only did I do this to myself, I traumatized my mother in the process. Sadly, this wasn’t the first time I had done this. The last time, Danny witnessed the seizure. I’m not proud of what I’ve done, but what ensued ensured that it wouldn’t happen again.
I was in the hospital for three days. The food was bland, but okay. I had no phone and no way to contact my parents. There was a sitter with me day and night. While I was there, the psychiatrist spoke to me for almost two hours, asking all of the basic questions. After our chat, he revealed that what I thought was a fun week was actually a hypomanic episode. My diagnosis list grew longer as he added bipolar II. They let Mom in to talk with us, and she cried as he explained everything to her. He suggested that I be put on Lithium, and she strongly objected.
From here, I was supposed to be put into an inpatient facility. However, my mom convinced them to let me go if I did an outpatient program. I didn’t intend on keeping this agreement, and my mom didn’t object too much. She arranged for me to see a psychiatrist and I continued going to therapy.
So, here we are. I’m out of the hospital and back home. Everything is still hard, and my heart is still sunken in, but I’m still breathing. I’ll try to write more often now that things are calming down.
Love,
Valerie
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