Let me fill you in on a little secret. I suffer from anxiety, depression and bipolar disorder. I don’t recommend this as an opener at a dinner party or on a first date, I just feel like sharing. Usually that makes me a bit of an introvert. I don’t try to be, but it is what it is. And I don’t always know when one or all three symptoms will hit. I could be driving down the street and suddenly feel inordinately sad.
A few basic aspects of bipolar is that we hate to disappoint and aim to please, we are toughest on ourselves, many of us are empaths, so we are sensitive to EVERYTHING. I don’t see dead people, but I am pretty in tune with animals, weird as that sounds. I spent my life trying to explain to a mother, father, a husband and a son that nothing is wrong and yet all is wrong. I can’t verbalize it, and I don’t need a pep talk. Sometimes I just feel sad. For me, bipolar means that I wear my feelings on my sleeve. When I am manic, I’m happy, peppy and the fun girl. When I’m sad, I’m withdrawn, sad and lonely. And I often don’t know why. There is probably some trigger. For me it could be a harsh or caustic word, a mean comment or just being ignored. You see, most of us with bipolar want to be liked. At least I do, and when a student or a colleague makes fun of me (even though I’m over 50 and it shouldn’t hurt, it does—I’m that chubby six grader again who thought she had on a cool nautical outfit on only to be mocked). Sometimes we over compensate and sometimes we withdraw. Sometimes we lash out. And sometimes we get silly. I think I am kind. But I set the bar high and expect a lot from my students and friends (which is probably why I don’t have not friends. This isn’t a sympathy thing. I just don’t). My brother thinks that a positive attitude will fix me. Been there. Tried that. I have the “Appreciation Journals” to provide it. know I sound whiny and self-indulgent. This is a turntable that is tough to get off.
It is extremely hard to have these diagnoses as an given to you as adult. I was first diagnosed with depression in my 20’s. Anxiety came next followed by bipolar. I’m in my 50’s, and while school systems recognize that our students can and are suffering, our colleagues often don’t realize we the teachers and staff are. I have about three people with whom I am friendly at school beyond my husband. It makes it pretty lonely. In all honesty (and once again, not a sympathy thing), my department basically ignores me. After my father died, no one asked how I was doing. Am I teaching in a bit of a toxic environment? Yes, and I five years, come hell or high water, I plan to move on.
My first job was awesome because we socialized with quite a few people from our department. As nubbies, the seasoned teachers took us (me and my husband—who was not my husband at the time, but a new teacher as well) under their respective wings. Today, that doesn’t seem to happen. No new teacher wants help from an older one. Why? Because the new teachers have all the answers and want to take over. That probably isn’t the case everywhere, but in my department it sure seems that way. The dynamics have changed in my department, and rather than being the cool, fun teacher, I’m the sensitive, somewhat disorganized one. Thanks to one young, bitchy teacher (and I’m being kind, she has admin hoodwinked, but she is manipulative and mean) who apparently was jealous with some of my relationships with students has sabbotaged my reputation and speaks ill of me in front of many students. Being the empath that I am, I can easily put two and two together. This isn’t sour grapes, I promise. This duplicitous educator has tried to take get me fired on more than two occasions. She’s pretty awful. But the principal thinks she’s the next best thing to sliced bread as does our HR person. So, I hang with my two or three buds from other departments and the custodial staff. Thusly, loneliness and avoidance can be triggers. I tend to despise faculty meetings, and have not missed anyone in my department at all during Covid. I guarantee, they haven’t missed me either. And most days working with a loving husband is great, but he will never, ever go out on a limb for me. I can’t wrap my head around that because I’ve gone out on a limb for him, other colleagues and students I hardly know. I call him Switzerland. A colleague could look me in the eye and say I’m the worst teacher ever, and my husband would be looking on his phone.
So, that is a really long way of saying that the past two years have sucked. I lost my father, and became an empty nester. Going from four people to talk to one is hard. It became more challenging when Covid hit because my kids moved home. I thought this would be great. But they politely say good morning and good night, and find my “old person antics” hilarious at dinner, and those are our family bonding moments. They work remotely, (as do I when I have a teaching job—nothing this summer), so we all fly off to our bat caves. My husband watches old movies ad nauseum from his very organized corner of the living room. He does love me, but not to share too much TMI, our is a platonic relationship. I’m not sure how/why that transpired. I’ve tried to talk to him about it pretty much since the Honeymoon. Over the years, I’ve asked about his sexuality. He basically has no answer. Quite frankly, I don’t think he is interested in sex. Period. Prior to our marriage he was, but like Elvis, the marriage made it wane. My husband is a funny, good man. He is an awesome teacher who loves his students and his children and does a lot around the house. I really have no complaints beyond my physical needs. But, I’m getting older, so those will drop off eventually, too, I assume. Therefore, I guess I’ll take the friendship, and live with a wonderful roommate who cooks, and likes watching funny shows even if I’m not into old movies or dragons in violent fantastical countries. Sometimes I dream about finding that person who thinks I’m funny, cute, amazing and charming. But that ship has sailed. Now, as my daughter commented yesterday, “I have old, tan wrinkled skin.”
And indeed, my kids have changed. I see it most definitely in my daughter. She returned from college a know-it-all who thinks pretty much every other family is more stable, richer, wiser and cooler than we are. I get corrected all the time because I apparently am a f****** idiot. My son, loves me, but neither kid wants to ever really talk to me. I always wanted to share my day and my thoughts with my parents. I craved their friendship and their approval. MIne could not care. So, that dynamic has either changed in 2020, or I’m doing all sorts of things wrong. It’s been nice to have them here and at the same time not. My son is beyond paranoid about this disease. He literally has to check where we are going from one minute to the next. I think I go for rides or brief errands so he’ll talk to me. Thus, my loneliness and rebellious nature of having everything decided for me (dinner time—husband, laundry time—whenever the kids don’t do theirs, cleaning time—my own because no one really likes that job, playing with our cats and feeding them—me because no one really likes are cats. In fairness, they are allergic, but two things I planned for when I became a mom. I would be the cool, fun mom that would dance in kitchens, go out for ice cream, visit various children’s museums and go on roller coasters. And they would love that we had pets. I grew up with fish. That were placed in my brother’s room. My kids hate roller coasters and have little memory of day, weekend or long trips we’ve taken. And they mentioned at dinner that if I ever brought home another cat, they’d move. That’s okay. In five years, when I can retire, I’m moving. Somewhere. Not sure where. But nothing is keeping me here.
So my Covid take away. You can’t choose your family. We were never very close to my Mother’s side, and my Dad’s side is beyond conservative and thinks my brother walks on water. I think I knew my father better than any of them, but it is what it is. My brother moved out West, so I am the lone Midwesterner in my family. Thus, you can’t choose your family, you can’t get them to listen to you or like you, and they will live their lives in spite of or despite you. Therefore, oddly, I often like my students and strangers better than my own family.
In a way, I hope we can go back to school. I’m really not worried about getting sick. I don’t want to be intubated because that sounds like it sucks, but I can’t say I’d miss a lot about living. Especially under quarantine. I get pneumonia at least twice a year, so we’ll see. I’m not going to fret about it. I like being in a classroom of students who generally like me and sort of have to listen to me. I have a sophomoric sense of humor, so it works.
Hey, if anyone else feels down, lonely or hopeless, send a comment. I know we can all get through this. Sort of. What I have learned most, is that in five years, my life will be different. I need a fresh start somewhere. Anyone else feeling similar? Thanks for indulging me. I get it if this is boring. My shopping blog was by far my most favorite blog to others, so getting real isn’t probably fun during Covid. But thanks for reading. All one of two of you! :)