When the Darkness rolls...

I was 17 when I was diagnosed with bipolar.

I can remember it starting when I was 12. It flared when I was 14. And from there on, it has been part of my life, over half my lifetime now.

I don't have strong manic episodes. They usually consist of me unable to sleep so I read. Or get up and do housework. Or watch movies. My mind agitates. I can't sleep because I have thoughts rushing up and down the expressways of my mind and I can feel them whooosh up and down, back and forth, like race cars. It is a bit disturbing and I am grateful when they slow down, when my mind stops spinning, and I can sleep.

But those are nothing compared to the depressive episodes. When the Blackness hits (a term I've used for my depression), things slow down. I move slower, I talk slower, I think slower. Somebody dumped molasses into my think tank and it gums up the works. Those days, I take slow, deep breaths and do what needs to be done but I don't push myself. I know that I need to take the time to let my chemistry balance itself and if I exhaust myself, that puts me square into another danger.

The Darkness comes. The Darkness (which is my suicidal thoughts) is awful. It's insidious and remorseless. It washes over everything, mutes everything in my head, shuts down as much as It can. Some days, I don't hear it. Not much. Just a subliminal murmur that I can ignore as I go about and enjoy the day. When the Blackness hits, that murmur gets pushed up a few notches. I can still ignore the Darkness, it's harder, but I concentrate on eating well and sleeping and not triggering anything if I can help it.

Once the Darkness is in full effect, that murmur becomes a full out roar, a scream, a rush of noise that overshadows and overwhelms. Its goal is to grind me down, to tire me, to make me pick up the blades and end it. When the Darkness is calling, I won't touch the knives in the house. I am not in a good place in my head and I know now, that I can tell my Awesome Guy and he will hold me while I cry and while I fight and while I push back as hard as I dare to. Exhausting myself emotionally is just a very bad idea.

So I push back. I try to Remember that this will pass. The Darkness will again fade away to almost nothing and I will be here, still. There are people who DO Love me. They Love me for me. I don't have to hide who I am. Or be someone I'm not.

I try and Remember this while I'm lost in the fog in my mind and all I can hear is the Darkness screaming at me. I do have One Weapon, though.

I call Him Bear. He is the sum and substance of my subconscious and my inner strength and wisdom. He is the entirety of my Soul and my Guardian of the Gates. He treads the Garden Paths inside and sends me Bear Dreams, rich with magic and wisdom. I don't get those often but I recognize them when I do. Bear resides deep inside and when I am at my wit's end, He comes out, lumbering, His great grizzly form rearing up to full measure and I retreat, letting Bear deal with the Darkness.

Bear does so with grace and strength. He pushes It back. He has no patience for the lies nor the knife edge and He gives me the breathing space I need to gather my resources and shut It down.

I am exhausted after a fight with the Darkness. I sleep a lot. I am fragile emotionally and am prone to tears until my equilibrium catches up with me.

The Darkness tells me that I am alone. It says that no one would care if I left. It says that I would be a good riddance as I am nothing but a burden to those who Love me and that it would be a relief when I'm gone. It says that I am Worthless. It says so many things that have hurt me ever since I was small.

Bear says that these are all Lies. Lies and things people have told me because they wanted to hurt me, because they wanted to control me, because they could not accept me for who I am and that I could not be what they wanted me to be. Bear says that I need to continue to fight and that I need to let others know that they're not alone when they hurt inside and when their own Darkness comes calling their Name.

When I am doing Ok, when I can feel the sun shine inside of me, I don't believe the Darkness one moment. I know the Lies for what they are and I can dismiss them easily. They are but shadows in the sun.

It's when I'm not doing Ok, when the Blackness has twisted my perception and the Darkness is waiting in the wings, that's when it's easier to think that perhaps I'm just being delusional. Perhaps I am lying to myself.

Today is a good day. My head is clear, my wrists don't ache (a sign that my chemical balance in my body is gone awry) and I don't hear the whispers very much at all. I'm taking it easy today. I will probably nap later on and make sure that I keep my resources as full as I can.

I am so very grateful for the people who Love me. I am so very grateful for my friends who are there for me, when I feel alone. I have my sons and my Awesome Guy and a great great roomie who understands my struggles and I am enriched so much by the people in my life.

The Blackness and the Darkness seek to isolate, this I know. I think it's important for people who fight it, to seek out just one person to talk to. I think it's important for those who Love us who fight, to let us know that they're here for us, that they will hold our hand,lead us out or walk beside us until we can walk away.

I write about this because I want people to know they're not alone in the Good Fight. There is nothing to be ashamed of. There is always hope. There is always Love.

Don't believe what the Darkness tells you. The Darkness is a Lie.



K.

Part II: Consequences and Actions

This wasn't the blog post I was going to write. But I think it's important.

In South Africa, there recently was a meeting of government officials and other people to discuss "corrective rape." Yes, I didn't write that wrong.

For those of you not in the know, corrective rape is when a lesbian is raped by a man or men (!!!) to "change" her to becoming heterosexual. I kid you not.

This has been going on for YEARS and until only recently has received the international attention it should have and now the government is going, please stop barraging us with petitions to stop this and we'll do something about it.

I am, grimly, pleased. Stop petitioning for this awful crime to cease? Sure 'nuff. When the government stops the actions legally. When the women who have been raped are provided free medical and psychological care. When these men are put behind bars for their actions.

Rape is a controlling device. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less. It's not sex. It's not seduction. It's certainly not something done to let a woman (or man) know that they're desireable.

Rape hurts. It physically hurts. It psychologically hurts. The damage can go on for years. The body heals. The mind, on the other hand, takes time and sometimes, it never does heal. PTSD is a bitch.

I know these things because I've been raped. I've been raped more than once and I've been raped by men I thought I could trust--boyfriends and friends. I've been sexually assaulted too but that's a whole different kettle of fish. It was thisclose to rape but I managed to avoid actual penetration. Everything else was up for grabs, shall we say.

A while ago now, there was a person on Etsy who had designed a card which was supposed to be funny. Except the picture on the front wasn't so funny. It was a photo of a woman sitting in a shower, nude. Her eyes were blank. Her position was as fetal as one could get, for sitting in a shower. The point of the card? "Congratulations! You've been bad touched."

Yeah....that...triggered the hell out of me. See, after a woman has been raped, she's not to take a shower. That destroys evidence, see. I knew that. So even though I wanted to take a shower, I didn't. I waited. Waited for seven HOURS because I wanted my boyfriend at the time to be there when the police came so I waited with my rapist's smell on me and his semen inside of me. I felt....well, I wanted a shower so badly but I wanted this man to be nailed to the wall. So I waited.

Afterwards, I got into the shower. I may have sat down in it. I know I scrubbed myself obsessively clean. I know I cried. I hurt. I hurt so badly.

A person can logically point out to me that the person who made this card has rights under the First Amendment. This is correct. A person can point out to me that I don't have to buy this card. This is also correct. A person can also say that I shouldn't let this affect me as it did and at that point, I am going to tell said person to take a long walk off a short pier. (I'm being nice).

Every rape I endured, I told myself I'd get through it. I'd survive and go on. Every rape I recovered from, I told myself that I am not at fault for it. I didn't ask for it. I sure in hell didn't deserve it.

And I am a survivor. I'm an advocate. I'm here for other women and men who have gone through this kind of hurt and hell and I can tell them that it is OK. That they're not worthless and they're not objects and they have the goddamn right to be as angry and sad and whatever else emotion they feel and they have the fecking right to tell others, this is NOT OK.

I, of course, signed the petition for the leaders of South Africa. I signed the petition for Etsy to stop the making of this card, First Amendment rights be damned.

It needs to start with one. One person who will be vocal and will not stop until their voice is heard.

My hats are off to the brave women of South Africa who brought this to our attention. My hats are off to the men and women who are there for rape victims and who work to make sure that the rape culture that pervades our society and the world is pushed back, is slowly eliminated.

These are signs of hope. I hope one day that it doesn't matter what the circumstances are. Rape is rape. And people who respond to that for what it is.



K.