Thankful on October 5, 2010

Today my Corbin asked me if I had blogged recently. He didn't want to get behind in reading them. How lucky am I? I will tell you how lucky. But I should definitely say blessed.

My crazy-thankful blog was started a few weeks ago in a desperate effort to stay sane. You see, I am a manic-depressive. In other words, I suffer from bipolar disorder. There it is. The thing I never say. Out there. I don't say it because it is way, way, way taboo. It is. You really cannot understand how taboo unless you are intimately involved.

After years of ridiculous medicinal cocktails, years of therapy and hospitalization, years of misunderstanding and tears, years of wanting it all to end, years of prayer after prayer after prayer, I found a treatment. A treatment that worked for me. A treatment that my precious husband stands behind and helps me with. A treatment that has kept me pretty darn healthy, and so close to normal that most of the people in my life at this time don't even know I am sick.

As 2010 began, I braced myself, and Corbin braced himself. This is the year when everything I know as an as-close-to-healthy-as-possible-bipolar-person was to change.

In June, my wonderful, amazing son Iver left home to embark on a journey that he has prepared for every moment of his life. He was called to serve a two year mission in Mexico City, teaching the gospel that he loves, while loving and serving the people of Mexico. It has been a slight roller coaster for him, as he was supposed to leave the Mission Training Center for Mexico 8 weeks ago today. He is still waiting for his visa. In the meantime, he has been serving in the state of Washington, and at this point has been told that the time is getting closer for him to go to Mexico. Iver was well prepared for the challenges of a mission, but this was something he did not foresee. He is strong and valiant, and putting his best foot forward, trying to forget himself and serve the Lord. But I am his mother. I can feel the discouragement between the lines of his letters. And beyond writing loving, supporting words, there is nothing I can do. I am helpless. And the illness creeps into my unquiet mind.

In August, we took our incredibly beautiful Shakira to Fort Collins, to begin her education at Colorado State University. She is studying music education, following a very spiritual path and prompting that this is the direction she needs to take with her life. Her musical talent is blossoming, and she is finding much joy spending many hours with arms around her cello. I am so happy for her and the joy she feels. But there is no more of her music in my home. Shakira is my sunshine, and without her, things feel quite cold. And the bipolar rears it's ugly head.

I tried to prepare. I did. And when I think about it, there really isn't much more I could have done. I'm not sick enough to want my life to end. Or to head back to the nearest psychiatrist with his medicinal cocktail. But the dark is there. The aching. The tears. The panic. The racing thoughts of doom.

Do you know what else is there? My Corbin. My constant. This is not an easy life with me. But my Corbin remains. He holds me, he comforts me, he encourages me. He loves me. Truly, truly, truly loves me. And it is through this love that I will again conquer the beast of my ill mind. How blessed I am to have him. How crazy-thankful.