Unhappiness My Own Fault
Someone told me lately that if I’m unhappy, that it’s my own fault. My first impulse was to hit them. Now, if you saw me, you’d think that this was funny, because I’m all of 4’10” tall, and weigh about 115 pounds. No, that’s a lie. I wish I weighed 115 pounds. I really weigh more like 135 pounds.
But still, I couldn’t hit them anyway, because besides the height and weight thing, I really am a peaceful person. Well, because of my wonderful bipolar medication, I really am a peaceful person, I should say.
Anyway, the idea that I would be responsible for my own unhappiness was a new idea for me. When I was first diagnosed with bipolar disorder, I, of course, blamed my mother, because she had bipolar disorder, and I had read that the disorder can be passed down.
I wanted to blame anyone and anything for my having the disorder, because I was angry. And unhappy? You bet I was unhappy! I was just plain depressed (I was diagnosed when I was in a bipolar depressed episode) and in an institution for “suicidal ideologies.”
Ok, so back to the point – the idea that I am responsible for my own unhappiness. The idea that I was responsible for anything in my life was an alien idea to me when I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. So, yeah, I wanted to blame someone else for my diagnosis, for my unhappiness.
The first thing they do when they diagnose you, which as you know as a bipolar survivor, is try to get you to accept that you have bipolar disorder. Not me! Denial was my middle name! My grandmother had bipolar disorder. My mother had bipolar disorder. My sister had bipolar disorder! But me? Uh-uh.
There was only one thing that convinced me that I had bipolar disorder. That was medication. When I started taking the medication for bipolar disorder, all of a sudden my world straightened out. My moods stabilized, and I was “ok.” They told me that the bipolar disorder was not my fault. That helped me to accept the disorder, too.
Ok, so I accept that bipolar disorder is not my fault. But the idea that my unhappiness is my fault? How do I accept that? I have to accept that my consequences are the result of my own actions, that’s how.
So if the bipolar medications stabilize my moods, and I begin to make good choices, then I can begin to be happy, right? And if I make bad choices, then I will have bad consequences – I will be unhappy.
Hmmm… I’m starting to see the “big picture” here. Taking responsibility for my own actions… taking responsibility for my own feelings… so I can choose to be happy, or I can choose to be unhappy… Hey! I don’t know about you, but if I have a choice – I think I’ll choose to be happy!
Wishing you joy and stability,
Remember God loves you and so do I,
Michele
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Someone told me lately that if I’m unhappy, that it’s my own fault. My first impulse was to hit them. Now, if you saw me, you’d think that this was funny, because I’m all of 4’10” tall, and weigh about 115 pounds. No, that’s a lie. I wish I weighed 115 pounds. I really weigh more like 135 pounds.
But still, I couldn’t hit them anyway, because besides the height and weight thing, I really am a peaceful person. Well, because of my wonderful bipolar medication, I really am a peaceful person, I should say.
Anyway, the idea that I would be responsible for my own unhappiness was a new idea for me. When I was first diagnosed with bipolar disorder, I, of course, blamed my mother, because she had bipolar disorder, and I had read that the disorder can be passed down.
I wanted to blame anyone and anything for my having the disorder, because I was angry. And unhappy? You bet I was unhappy! I was just plain depressed (I was diagnosed when I was in a bipolar depressed episode) and in an institution for “suicidal ideologies.”
Ok, so back to the point – the idea that I am responsible for my own unhappiness. The idea that I was responsible for anything in my life was an alien idea to me when I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. So, yeah, I wanted to blame someone else for my diagnosis, for my unhappiness.
The first thing they do when they diagnose you, which as you know as a bipolar survivor, is try to get you to accept that you have bipolar disorder. Not me! Denial was my middle name! My grandmother had bipolar disorder. My mother had bipolar disorder. My sister had bipolar disorder! But me? Uh-uh.
There was only one thing that convinced me that I had bipolar disorder. That was medication. When I started taking the medication for bipolar disorder, all of a sudden my world straightened out. My moods stabilized, and I was “ok.” They told me that the bipolar disorder was not my fault. That helped me to accept the disorder, too.
Ok, so I accept that bipolar disorder is not my fault. But the idea that my unhappiness is my fault? How do I accept that? I have to accept that my consequences are the result of my own actions, that’s how.
So if the bipolar medications stabilize my moods, and I begin to make good choices, then I can begin to be happy, right? And if I make bad choices, then I will have bad consequences – I will be unhappy.
Hmmm… I’m starting to see the “big picture” here. Taking responsibility for my own actions… taking responsibility for my own feelings… so I can choose to be happy, or I can choose to be unhappy… Hey! I don’t know about you, but if I have a choice – I think I’ll choose to be happy!
Wishing you joy and stability,
Remember God loves you and so do I,
Michele
About Author
MICHELE SOLOWAY
Michele Soloway shares regularly on the ups and downs of dealing with bipolar disorder, along with personal insights, lessons learned, and encouragement for others who also have bipolar disorder.