Unexpected Progress

One of the more embarrassing characteristics of my bipolar disorder is what I had being referring to as manic episodes, but honestly, it’s not really mania. After doing more research and talking with a professional, I have also been diagnosed with IED (Intermittent Explosive Disorder).

Mania usually lasts longer than my 30-45 minute outbursts. A handful of people have been witness to these episodes, but the most familiar by far would be Jacob.

This past weekend I had an episode and I was disappointed with the outcome. I had told myself the next time this would happen, I would handle it better and be prepared. Wishful thinking.

My last episode before this was the week of Thanksgiving. I had made it almost three months! A simple miscommunication/misunderstanding was the trigger of this episode and the jury is still out if I actually said “choking” or “puking.”

MJ was gagging on a muffin and trying to spit it out… she was sitting in the chair with Jake, so naturally I asked that he pull the muffin out of her mouth. When he got up to go throw it away, she started to puke and I panicked. In my mind, I am sure I yelled, “Jake! She’s puking!” He insists I yelled, “Jake! She’s choking!” To which he firmly replied, “No she’s not, stop freaking out.”

Well… I don’t handle being talked to as if I am dumb (because I most certainly am not), and my trigger was ignited. I acknowledged this was happening and was well aware of what was about to follow. I knew I was going to become upset, so I took myself to the bedroom, shut the door and began to cry. Right-minded Mandy knew this is where I should have stayed. IED Mandy, did not.

Jake had put MJ in the bath tub and was trying to take her vomit-soaked clothes off of her, but she was hysterical crying, “I throwed up, I throwed up.” He yelled for me to come help, which was once again the wrong thing to do. If he was so smart why did he need my help? I should have stayed in bed. I know I should have. But I didn’t. I went into the bathroom guns blazing. I screamed for him to get out and I would take care of it, like I always do. (Which is a lie… he takes care of everything, every time.) I slammed the door behind him and started kicking it. I wanted to break the door just to prove how angry I was. The door was more solid than I thought and I quickly just became exhausted after five or six kicks. I sat down next to the bathtub crying, and that is when the absolute worst thing could have happened. I let MJ see me cry.

I promised myself she would never, ever witness an episode… and I failed. She put her hand on my head and whispered, “Don’t cry mommy.”

A few days later I went to discuss this episode with my professional. I expressed how disappointed I was with myself and how badly I had failed. But then, something I wasn’t expecting happened. He told me it wasn’t a failure. The outcome may not have been what I had hoped for, but I had made progress. PROGRESS? You call that progress? He explained that for the first time in my life I was aware of what was happening. I was aware I was about to enter an episode and I was aware of what I should do.

Unfortunately, I didn’t follow through and do it, but there is always room for improvement, and maybe next time I will make it just a little bit longer and only kick the door once instead of six times. My expectations are far too unrealistic and I can’t cure myself overnight/from one episode to the next. But I can improve a little each time. So although I initially felt like I had failed, especially letting my daughter witness my IED, I also learned a little and made a little progress. He even gave me a little permission to blame it on hormones (although I am fairly certain they played no part in it).

Maybe this time I can go four months without an episode, and maybe I won’t. But the next time it does happen, I have faith I will acknowledge, be aware, and hopefully not kick anything… oh, and make sure MJ isn’t in sight.

She’s only two, she surely won’t remember this, right?