I want a baby but even more so I want to know that I will always want this baby. You see after being bipolar for so long I can’t really be sure which one of me wants a child. Is it the manic me or the real me? The two have been infused for so long it’s hard to tell them apart. I dream of things that I have to question. Normal people don’t question their own intentions only people with a mental illness do. Infected by my minds will while competing with compressed powdery pills that apparently hold it all together.
What if I can’t be a good mother? What if I relapse and end up in the hospital? Even with this substances controlling my inner demons, I still feel them. They are there and always will be. To stop taking my meds means I will be emotional, irritable, all out angry and irrational. I don’t want to hear voices again. I don’t want to feel out of control. I know that you make sacrifices for your children but what if I’m being selfish?
Sometimes I feel the rush of impending doom and it frightens me more than I care to admit. I fear the words I speak will scare those that I love and hold dear but they must be spoken for I will simply scream from the pressure. As the cells inside me begin to implode, my minds eye constantly reiterates my self destruction. The fear of bringing life out of me and ruining it is a failure I cannot bear. I know my limitations and I know my breaking point. Though I hold the scattered pieces of my mind together with mere scotch tape and elmers glue, I pray that I can hold it together long enough to feel joy. To enjoy what all those childless mothers crave. To hold my baby in my arms with no fear and say with absolute certainty “I Got This”.