Crying, Slipping and Hoping Not to Fall Down (A Bipolar Low)

I was thinking about how difficult it was posting that last blog post… I previously stated that I am completely scared to write about the incidents that happened only seven months ago. You see, people in my life forget that everything is wiped away and put far in the past. But for me I still fear so many things, I fear seeing the house we lived in (where everything took place). I fear the streets I ran away on.
We were helping my sister move, driving down familiar streets that I remember running down in fear...I cried

Friday I discovered how shitty our health care is now! Our insurance sucks and the only insurance most doctors take without having to contact our insurance company before every appointment is Molina, a low income insurance. (I don't put down those who actually need it.) So did you catch that crap, a whole process just to see our doctors, but someone on government care can soak up the system. My husband works his ass off and pays taxes-every paycheck, our tax returns are low and we get more money taken out for medical care. So they’re telling me my husband has to work part time and sit on his ass the rest of the day in order for us to receive reasonable care. It’s shitty! I don’t understand it. I tried to make an appointment for my kids with their pediatrician, whom they’ve seen for all of their lives and I was denied because I had to get approved by my insurance company first...I cried.

I messed up on my son’s homework and his teacher sent it back with a big “incomplete” written across the top in red ink. I can’t believe my mind blanked out and my son paid for it...I cried.

Yesterday we were driving on the freeway and as I was talking to Rick I kept tripping over my tongue and murdering my words. I forget a lot of things now and I feel so stupid, I want to say something and I slur my words like I am drunk. I lose focus and I see nothing but pain and sadness, I wish I can speak clearly without feeling inadequate. Of course during and after feeling that way…I cried…

This is not a “pity me” emotional cry; this is me slowly slipping down into a place I don’t want to go. When I talk to Rick about wanting to hang on I cry because I fear what I will lose. I fear the time I will lose, the joy and laughter I will not recognize. I am fighting this and it's a battle I want to win so badly.
At this point I have to step back-from looking back and refocus on what I have now. Because If I cry I won’t laugh, if I don’t laugh, I feel guilty, and if I feel guilty, I blame myself. If I blame myself, I fall into an absolute low in which I will be unable to recover from easily. It isn’t easy, this isn’t easy. Do you get it? Is there anyone out there who actually knows what this feels like or even knows what I am talking about? I am so tired of not being able to live without reliving horrific memories. This isn’t a “What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger!” type thing...this is "What almost killed me makes me broken". I cannot say that things are easy to forget, this is embedded in me for the rest of my life. I feel like crying at every moment that I let my guilt and blame take over my mind. The scars on my arms remind me of all the tormenting pain and all of the flashbacks.
I tried to “look on the bright side” and this time, to my surprise I was able to. I was able to look at beautiful moments. I was happy in a high but in a calming high, I seen my kiddos laugh and I soaked in their love.  Rick and I enjoyed spending time with my sister and her husband. I always love our time together. She is opening up more to my sense of humor about my situation and she doesn’t give me hell for being on meds. We had a great time and lots of laughs.
When picking up my kids from my parent’s house after an all grandkids sleep over (my parents are awesome, 11 kids all at once…wooo) I was able to smile with my heart. Of course my type A mom was cleaning the house with bleach, typical for her on a Saturday, if she’s not out with my dad. My mom has always been on our backs about cleaning, doing chores around our house wasn’t just taking out the trash and washing dishes. Our chores were to strip everything out making sure everything was clean-spotless. We hated doing our chores and cleaning so much. But now if you look at our places and our possessions, you would see the results of her influence; everything is clean and lasts along time. My kids’, Rick’s and my clothes are so organized it's ridiculous, but everyone can find what they are looking for. I am proud to inherit that intense obsession of cleanliness, my mom taught me well and seeing her in operation makes me smile with glee.
I stepped outside to see my dad’s large garden, the soil turned and ready for planting. I asked him so many questions about how not to kill my garden. We stood and talked, I appreciated his love and knowledge of plants and life-growing from the earth...at that moment I knew that I can grow a garden without killing it. There was a moment in which my heart was overwhelmed with love. I was able to drive away in the car with such joy in my heart and love for my family; I was able to put my past experiences and my Bipolar away for enough time to embrace the moments of love.
The difficult thing for me at this point is making sure that I maintain my level of joy; I don’t want to be so high that I grow wildly out of control, nor do I want to disappear from my life and become someone who is buried into nothing. Last night I layed my head down on my pillow and I faced my sweet husband, he always stares at me like he is lost in my eyes. Facing one another I cried telling him how I didn’t want to go down, he told me it will be okay, everything is gonna be alright (quoting Bob Marley). I told him I wanted to hold on and I didn’t want to go down, I told him how I was slipping down already…and he said he notices my change. You see, he watches me transform into something I dread, hate, love, enjoy, loath and fear. He sees me begging a God that will hear my inner shouts. Rick sees me trying to stay in a medium state! He knows when I need him to bring me down and when he needs to pull me up.
I don’t want to write in a low, I don’t want to have to spill it all out… out loud…or on paper. I don’t want my kids to have to deal with this…they're the reason I am alive. I don’t want my kids to see me and Audrey having to take care of Noah telling him, “It’s okay, Mommy isn’t feeling good, she still loves us.”
I don’t want to go down.

I am in a battle at this moment, a battle I fear, but fight.

I am in a time of limbo that keeps me in suspense…Oh dear God where is the light

Don’t want to fall when I think I am flying down

My happy smile hurts, even my grin is pain, and my angry smirk is easy, just like a "screw you" frown

Questioning the world around me and how confused I can be…becoming

Becoming someone I don’t even know

Will you know oh natives and sightseers?

And you companion, hold on to me as I slip out of my own hands

Grasping onto muddy roots of a pit unable to even stand

Am I heard, am I heard by my own ears-don’t you see the pain in my tears

Recognize my fears

Let me write with joy and sing with life in my mind

I want to love myself in every word I speak; I want to write to me…yes even if it is only me

So my question is:

Is it better to write about sad things when you’re happy and happy things when you’re sad?

Or

Is it better to write about sad things when you’re sad and happy things when you’re happy?