I am His
Two years ago, I suffered my first manic episode. During the months following, I questioned whether or not a bipolar diagnosis could be correct. How could I suddenly be suffering from such a serious mental disorder? The diagnosis felt like a stab in the heart, an ugly label I now had to carry.
A few of my doctors brushed off the diagnosis, reassuring me that it could have just been an episode of postpartum psychosis, but after suffering from a second manic episode just a few months ago, I’ve had to wrestle with the reality—the diagnosis is correct.
This new understanding, that my mind may continue to deceive me, is frightening. The possibility of instability in the future is a great burden, one that will, from now on, be shared by my family. I'm holding on to hope that medicine and lifestyle changes will help prevent any future episodes, but there are no guarantees.
I can’t help but think of Punchinello from Max Lucado’s book You are Special. Like Punchinello, I feel like I’ve become plastered with gray dots reminding me of my embarrassing moments. Sometimes I feel like any stars I once had have fallen to the ground, trampled and tarnished, overshadowed by the gray dots. I know visiting with the Maker will give me the encouragement I need to let those gray dots fall to the ground one after another, but the first hurdle is accepting that this label of bipolar disorder does not need to make me feel less than. That the embarrassing moments from my episodes do not need to stick with me for the rest of my life.
I’m trying to let go. I’m trying to let my gray dots fall and be swept away, never to return. But my mind is sharp, and these memories of confusion, fear, and embarrassment are not so easy to forget. My only hope is to turn back to my Maker, to let Him encourage me and assure me that He sees me for what I am—I am His.
A few of my doctors brushed off the diagnosis, reassuring me that it could have just been an episode of postpartum psychosis, but after suffering from a second manic episode just a few months ago, I’ve had to wrestle with the reality—the diagnosis is correct.
This new understanding, that my mind may continue to deceive me, is frightening. The possibility of instability in the future is a great burden, one that will, from now on, be shared by my family. I'm holding on to hope that medicine and lifestyle changes will help prevent any future episodes, but there are no guarantees.
I can’t help but think of Punchinello from Max Lucado’s book You are Special. Like Punchinello, I feel like I’ve become plastered with gray dots reminding me of my embarrassing moments. Sometimes I feel like any stars I once had have fallen to the ground, trampled and tarnished, overshadowed by the gray dots. I know visiting with the Maker will give me the encouragement I need to let those gray dots fall to the ground one after another, but the first hurdle is accepting that this label of bipolar disorder does not need to make me feel less than. That the embarrassing moments from my episodes do not need to stick with me for the rest of my life.
I’m trying to let go. I’m trying to let my gray dots fall and be swept away, never to return. But my mind is sharp, and these memories of confusion, fear, and embarrassment are not so easy to forget. My only hope is to turn back to my Maker, to let Him encourage me and assure me that He sees me for what I am—I am His.
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