You love gifs, don't deny it.

A while ago, on a previous blog, I mentioned that I have bipolar disorder.

After a long time of thinking it was totes normal to hate on myself (for any reason possible) and draw emo things, it was a revelation to know that actually it's totally uncool and I shouldn't do it.

While it still sometimes sucks ( a little or a lot) most of the time my attitude about being bipolar is kind of like...

... you know. Whatevs - It's how I roll. 

This post isn't actually about being bipolar, it's about when I had kids, and about art, and about fears, and whatever else.

When I had the Angel I was terrified that I would get post natal depression, and when I instead got a placid baby who I liked pretty much straight away I was pretty pleased. Two years later when the Samurai showed up, I wasn't worried. I was going to have a baby, take a few days off and get back to art and looking after the Angel and studying medical terms and all sorts of 'not related to baby' type things.

I left the hospital the same day that he was born feeling all tough and womanly about my staunch reaction to child birth.

And then I got home and went to bed and fell into what I would deem to be a self inflicted depression.
I wasn't connected to this squishy little guy, I never managed to get everything done in the day that I wanted to do, he was always (always) hungry and feeding him was a painful trial...
I felt guilty for saying anything about it, and just stared at his little face hoping for some kind of revelation - before going to make dinner, or clean something, or sit on the computer, or do something else that would take me away from him.

Dummy.

I was distraught that he wasn't like the Angel, that I didn't love him the same, that I couldn't 'figure him out.'

Then I realised that I didn't know him. He was just new and hadn't been around for the two years I'd had his brother.
I slowed down, spent more time with him. Realised that he whinges because he LOVES being around people and chatting and laughing and staring into peoples faces. After the first few weeks he even started sleeping through the night (um way to become the favourite - jks!!)
He's awesome, and super cute and totally different to his brother which is fantastic. I love his guts.

The moral of the whole story, or perhaps a moral of this story is that while I may be able to shrug about how I deal with my mood swings and bipolarity, and while I know that I don't need to hate myself, I can still draw emo drawings.

Shunning sadness and irrational desires to cry has meant that I put away a lot of the things that I did at that time to cope for things that actually worked.

For example.

Listening to sad music while sad - not helpful
Complaining to equally depressed friends while depressed - not helpful
Cutting off all my hair and/or dying it yet another colour - not helpful
More earings? - NOT HELPFUL
Watching world movies - not helpful

See?

So while I still love Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, I'm hardly going to rely on it to help me manage my emotions. Rather I'll go for a run or better yet, call my husband for a whinge and then go have a sleep.

I stopped drawing my emotions around the same time that I was diagnosed, and I shouldn't have. Drawing allowed me to constructively express myself without wearing down my loved ones with constant complaining.

So this is what I did today.

Because sometimes I need reminders of things. I will always know that I love my son, but the story of how I figured that out contained important lessons for me, and those I might forget.