Who am I? That is an interesting question. I'm not a doctor or a therapist, but I do have over 20 years of experience in the field of psychology, the first five in clinical depression and the rest in Bipolar Disorder. I am educated. I have an undergraduate degree and a masters degree, both of which I completed while I was raising children. But none of that tells you who I am. This will - I am Robin Rhodes, age 33, diagnosed with bipolar at the age of 18, gave birth to a little boy at the age of 23 who then was diagnosed with pediatric bipolar five years later after over a year of me yelling and screaming at friends, family and doctors that my little boy needed meds to live. I cannot work in the corporate world for more than a few months at a time and then need to take an equal amount of time away. But does that make me worthless? I don't think so. Does it make me dependent. It sure as hell does. Do I like it? Sometimes. Who doesn't want to be able to give up for a while, especially when you are in a deep dark black hole with slippery sides and no matter how many times you try to climb out on your own, you never will. Hell, half the time it takes a group of people creating a chain, linking arm in arm and sliding halfway into the hole with me to drag me up and usually by then, I am kicking and screaming because I have finally found a comfortable place to lay in the mud and refuse.
To this day it amazes me there are people still around who want to link hands and get dirty all for the sake of seeing my face again. My best friend's response is "For Christ's sake, Robin, we like you, we want to see you. Of course we hang around." My question back is always, "Why?" Maybe someday she'll answer my question or maybe its just that she doesn't know.
So am I qualified? I've been to hell and back a few times. Those people I call my chain? They have kept me from going too far. Thank who ever is above that I have never spent a night in a hospital because of my sanity. They all believe it would only worsen my condition, but I have tried suicide. I have cut myself, carved my ankles, wrists and other body parts. I've spent hundreds of dollars in a few hours and the only reason I stopped then is because my credit cards wouldn't let me go any further. I have driven at over 100 mph and not been at the track. My life is a miracle. Is it fair? Hell no. I should have died dozens of times by now and others who were blessings to this world are long gone. But life isn't fair I guess, so we go until we're called back, or some shit like that.
So why am I doing this? I'm a writer. It's that simple and so much more complicated. Perhaps I am doing it to allow someone out there a chance to say, I can so survive better than you or maybe say, I am not alone. Or maybe its more selfish. Maybe I am daring someone to say, really? get off your lazy ass and get some work. Quit feeling sorry for yourself. What ever the reason, I'm doing and your not. What's that say about you?
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