Coming into the season of Lent, after a year I alternately wish I could do-over or wipe from my memory, I am looking to affect positive change in my life. I am bipolar and I have spent the last ten years of my life workshopping my shit and doing all the things I am supposed to do to take care of myself. I don’t take medication because I have historically suffered adverse reactions to it. Last year, after seeing advertisements for newly approved medications for the disorder, I decided to give medication another try. What I didn’t know is just how bad a bad reaction to medication can be.

For me, my disorder manifests as inappropriate anger and crying jags before bed, listening to sad music, convinced no one loves me. I don’t have full blown mania, I don’t have psychosis, and I don’t want to die. After two months of bliss with the new medication, and a lifetime of halfhearted and mediocre depression, I was wholly unprepared for the nihilistic loss of the will to live that slammed into me. I have never truly understood until that moment how sick someone can get from this disorder, or how desperate you have to be to end up in the hospital.

When that moment hit me, though, every emotional barrier I had ever erected was wrenched out of my control. I suddenly understood the unbearableness of it, of the idea of living every day for the rest of your life in that kind of pain. Inconceivably, I also understood the stark terror of seeing it, acknowledging it, and having no power over it. The medication had completely blown me away and the only thing that got me through it (which was definitely not that shitty psychiatric nurse I was seeing) was a steadfast adherence to the idea that it would not, could not be forever.

And it wasn’t. I got through it minute by minute, but eventually the wild ride on the rickety wooden mood roller coaster slowed down. It didn’t stop, it never does, that’s part of this illness, but I got back to a semblance of self I recognized. I am ready to recover. Now that the ride has slowed down though, all I can do is groan. I’ve already BEEN here. I’ve already DONE this. I spent ten years building my personal temple of mental wellness so why am I here again digging another foundation?

It takes a huge effort to build a support system from the ground up; doing it a second time is overwhelming. My choice of doctors isn’t as good. My friends are more far flung. I have new and different demands on my time. I am TIRED and I don’t really have the motivation. Ask me what interests me and my top two responses are sleep and avoiding responsibility. OK, a few dog snuggles are in there too but I count that as part of sleep.

Somehow, despite my personal feelings about it, responsibility and rationality always win out. I have children to look after, classes to complete, work to finish, and a husband who depends on me. I cannot afford to be dysfunctional. Which brings me back to Lent. As we approached the Lenten season, I began to listen to what my rector was preaching (not that I don’t always listen, but it’s like someone suddenly mentioning your name and suddenly you’re more alert). Lent is a time of renewal. Some people take the New Year as a time to make resolutions and change their lives. I wasn’t ready then. I’m ready now.

Our rector (a recovering alcoholic, which I think is fucking awesome; you have to have balls to stand in front of a congregation and admit you have a problem) reminded me that sometimes you’ve got to “fake it ’til you make it.” I have a year’s worth of baggage and inertia weighing me down, but I have ten years worth of experience living a fulfilling life despite the challenges I faced. If I want to want things again, if I want to rediscover the joys of living and not existing, then I am going to have to put on a happy face and make it happen; it won’t just come to me.

I’m here, doing the hard work. I’m starting over. I’m divesting myself of the bitterness and accepting this as my lot. I’ve had a lot of fantastic things come from adversity and I will have more in the future. I have a wonderful husband and two beautiful children. I have new friends and a new community, but old friends are here too. I am spiritually richer. I have a decent MD and a new therapist who is showing a great deal of promise. We have an agenda. I’m doing my homework. This is how I will find myself again. I am just glad it won’t take me ten years this time; call me Pollyanna if you want, you fucking cynic.