Not getting what we deserve: The life frustrations of being mentally ill

As I've written, I'm bipolar. I was a successful student and athlete in HS with successful, working parents in Wisconsin. I had earned success and I had no reason to believe that the opportunity would not be there in the future. I put emphasis on "opportunity." I'm not talking having anything handed to me. I'm talking, due to good health, of being able to work and contribute to society. My deterioration began, in bits and pieces, towards the end of my HS days and mushroomed as I was going to college. I was coping with major depression and anxiety my freshman year but I pressed on. I got good grades my first year (except for Algebra 2, though I worked my ass off.) Over time, trying to cope with a major illness I didn't know I had, I started losing at the game of life. My grades in college plummeted as I became dependent on benzodiazepines to avoid constant panic attacks and antidepressants that may have triggered mania to avoid black moods. I was afraid of my illnesses. Deathly afraid. Here I had been, a success. Now I was fighting for my life against something I didn't understand. My "support" was also very sketchy at this time. My Mom had left home and was living for herself. My Dad thought I was a lazy freeloader after awhile. Not surprisingly, this added a LOT of stress to my life, which aggravated my condition. I became more interested in darker things, from drunken partying to slasher films on TV (which I had never liked before.) I began avoiding schoolwork by my junior year. I avoided it and attempted to cram at the end of the semester. In some classes, I didn't get away from it and I bombed. I just wanted to be happy during this time. I was fighting for my identity and for simple peace of mind. And I was failing increasingly. I had to leave college after my junior year or I would have flunked out. I went from successful student to complete waste in two years. The more I tried to stem the tide, the higher my stress level. I tried drug after drug, desperately trying to find a drug combination that would help correct a chemical imbalance that I didn't understand. I knew nothing about psychiatry and I would be a few years away from trying to learn about it. I just wanted to be happy. I didn't want my life cluttered with an illness. I was 18 when I was first diagnosed with depression. My life was just ready to take off. I had earned it. All the tough times I had in HS, I had earned it, damn it. Now it was being stolen from me by a mental illness. My intelligence and toughness were two things I prided myself on. Now I had problems just getting up to go to class. I never took naps during my summers in HS. Now I was taking one everyday in college because I had to. My energy was being drained from me by the depression. I would be exhausted just sitting there. My symptoms had me angry and my thoughts were angry and aggressive. Instead of listening to gangsta rap just for enjoyment, I was now identifying with the words. I was in trouble and I was only getting worse. I left to live with my Mom and work in Atlanta, then I went back to school. It was during this time that I was diagnosed bipolar. It was devastating. I was minoring in political science with the possible hope of making a difference in elected office. Now that was impossible yet I had gone so far with my minor that I was still taking poly sci courses. I had no future yet I was trapped in the same classes. It would be like a person recently diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease taking classes about having a strong, well functioning memory. After one terrible year back in Wisconsin, where I was at the brink of suicide twice, I left school again and went to work in Kentucky, where I lived until I was 10. I went back to Wisconsin with the intention of finishing school. I stayed with my Dad for a brief period. He thought I was a freeloader and a loser by this time. What was happening to me was all my fault in his eyes and I was now a failure in his eyes. My Dad, my best friend and confidante growing up, hated me now and I hated him. After another failed work experience, we had a violent domestic dispute and I ended up sentenced and committed. I was a winner in HS. I didn't drink or smoke and I was successful. Now I was convicted of domestic violence and incarcerated in a psyche clinic for 6 months. I had fought so hard to be successful again. I had been on and off and on and off my meds because they made me so sleepy when I took them that I couldn't function. There was a ton of "Why me?" Why all that agony? I became deluded. I started believing in reincarnation and I assumed that I had been Hitler or Pontius Pilate in a previous life. Why else was I suffering that much when my intentions were good? Over time, by age 42, I've become much more stable in my mind and in my life. I'm working on a book, pursuing personal interests and trying for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. But I can never work a full time job again. I have before but I can't now. I'm young, just 42, yet the stress is too much and the high functioning is impossible for me. A part time job is possible but hasn't materialized. I try to "let go and let God." If I'm going in that direction, he doesn't want me to work in the public or private sector. A confusing situation? In my case, yes. I have high hopes for my book. It's excellent so far and I'd love to make some money with it to be able to support myself. Right now, I'm on disability and parental help (we're all understanding about my situation now.) I'm all over the internet and I'm enormously curious about life. I'm also still very driven to succeed, whether my health will allow me to or not. I see successful people, many much less talented or honest or decent than myself. They're getting what they want. I use "celebrity culture" for example. So many of these celebrities are useless yet they're getting what they want out of life and I can't? They're stupid and immoral but they're functional. I see that functioning and I get so jealous. It's wanting to run the marathon so badly but being a double amputee. I clench my fists a lot. Avoiding the world would perhaps cause less pain but I'm not a shrinking violet. I'm a jerk and a competitor. I'm still a winner, I hope. I still strive and I still try. It's just all so frustrating. I am being prevented from the kind of success I want to achieve. I'm trying to make lemonade out of lemons but I could just cry at times.