I have always wanted children, always. After losing my first baby at 17 part of me thought that it would never happen. I was 18 when I fell pregnant with Lily and I was excited and overwhelmed and scared. I came off my medication, I stopped self-harming and my pregnancy flew along and my little ray of hope was born. 
I couldn't have hoped or wished for a more perfect little girl. I couldn't believe she was mine and I couldn't believe that I was responsible for shaping and bringing up this little fragile but full of life person.
Three years later my beautiful boy was born after a difficult and painful pregnancy he restored my hope; I had my beautiful girl and beautiful boy - what more could I ever want or need?!
Watching them grow and develop into the little characters that they are today has been amazing - but - I haven't always appreciated it. When your mind is full of demons it can be hard to remember how thankful you are for some things and to appreciate being in the moment instead of worrying about EVERYTHING, instead of having to clean, to make sure no one sits on the sofa or stands on the rug because that's just the way it had to be. Everything in its right place - but it was just completely wrong.
When I was finally diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, at first it felt like a relief - finally, it made sense why nothing else had worked, why I was the way I was. But as the treatment started and it sank in the impact that this diagnosis had on my life it sent shockwaves through me. I found it harder and harder to deal with the noise of my children - whether it be them playing happily and laughing or arguing as brother and sister do. I snapped at them for no reason, they watched me cry, they played around in a bombsite of toys while I scrubbed skirting boards, they watched me laugh uncontrollably at funny things they said and tickle them until they begged me to stop. Despite clearly having two different mummies within the one person they still loved me unconditionally and still wanted my affection, which at times I haven't been able to give them.
When I wasn't able to work anymore I explained to Lily about my mood swings - they both knew I was sick but as children, they obviously assumed that meant physically. I had explained to Lily before about how people can have "sick minds", as well as sick bodies, explaining to her what my Degree was about and she understood that all my tablets would help me feel 'normal happy' and 'normal sad' and I wouldn't do my crazy cleaning.
Due to all the medication and the sedating effect and the fact I had to hold my hands up and say I can't do this on my own - my mummy stepped in to help me and has given me more help than I could ever have asked for. Since November we spend most of the week at her house, she does everything for them that I can't - she washes and dresses them, cooks for them, takes them to school, entertains them and does ambitious craft projects that I could never handle because of the mess, the noise and either the disruption to my cleaning ritual or because I lacked the energy to move. At the minute my anxiety is so bad that I can't even walk Lily up to school because there's too many people and the children in the playground scare me. Just because I haven't been able to do any of these things for them doesn't mean I love them less, it means I am putting them first and making sure their needs are met when I can't do it for them. There is no shame in that, there is only love.
Lily and Jonah spend two nights a week with their daddy and get a break from me and when I know I can handle all that they bring with their boisterous personalities spend some time with myself and Fra at the weekends and I make sure we make the most of it planning days out when I know I can cope. These days though drain me, especially if we have been in a busy place - remaining calm, normal and trying to keep the anxiety of losing one of my children amongst the hustle and bustle is mentally and emotionally exhausting.
As my moods have become "unstabley stable" I have been able to have them at home for a night - as a mother imagine how it feels to be able to say "My children were able to have a sleepover with me in their own house" - first it made me feel lower than low but then it has reminded me that I am making progress and any decision I make is in their best interest to make sure they are happy and cared or and as unaffected by my mental state as possible.
They are my reason to keep going. They are the reason why I am still here. They are the reason I will take control of my mental illness.
Comments
Post a Comment