Disappointing Loved Ones Because My Bipolar Won't Improve

I'm tired of disappointing my loved ones because my bipolar won't improve. I'm tired of looking at my doctor's face as I tell him that the new bipolar treatment isn't really making things better. Their disappointment becomes my disappointment. I feel disappointment in me too. Of course, When bipolar won't improve, disappointment is natural, but it's the disappointing my loved ones that twists the knife.

My Bipolar Won't Improve

This is not to say that treatment isn't helping my bipolar disorder, because it is. The issue is, we've plateaued, and not at a wellness level that I think is good enough. Many people are in this situation. Medication keeps them alive but they can never truly get out of their bipolar depression. I'm like that. I'm alive. I'm not going to kill myself. But life seems entirely pointless due to anhedonia (inability to feel pleasure). That single depression symptom really is enough to make you dread waking up in the morning.

Telling My Loved Ones My Bipolar Won't Improve

And it's really horrible having to tell people that my bipolar disorder hasn't improved. My genuine loved ones really do want to know how I am when they ask, "How are you?" and my answer is pretty much always this, "the same."

I'm the same. I'm the same mess that I was yesterday. I'm the same mess I was a week ago. I'm the same tangle-of-unfortunate-things as I was a month ago. I'm the same.

And my loved ones look at me with this look. They look at me with their own hurt and disappointment. People who love you want you to get better. People who love you don't want you to be in pain. People who love you experience their own pain because of yours. It sucks for them and it sucks for me. I hate being the source of that for people. 

Is Disappointing Others Because My Bipolar Won't Improve My Fault?

I feel like disappointing these people is my fault. I suppose I feel this more strongly because of the depression, but I feel it, nonetheless.

Of course, this is like blaming yourself because you have to tell people you have cancer. 

It's wrong on its face.

I need to place the blame where it belongs: on the bipolar disorder. 

I am not disappointing people, the bipolar disorder is. The immovable rock that is a serious mental illness is disappointing my loved ones. Chalk up another bipolar disorder casualty.

So while I'm sick of being the carrier of disappointment, it truly isn't my fault. I know that may seem unimportant to some, but this fact is important to me. Because it truly is hard to see that look on their faces. And I need some protection from my own blame for that.