Long Shot: My Bipolar Life and the Horses Who Saved Me. Sylvia Harris

of character. I have struggled with feelings of shame and felt like I should be able to control it by myself. But the hazy boundary between what is and what isn’t reality makes it difficult for me to even trust myself.

      The cruel irony is that the time I am the most confident is when I’m at my worst: in full-blown mania. I am so sure of myself that I don’t even begin to question my thoughts or actions. Sometimes I receive an occasional strand of clarity that manages to filter through an episode and tells me to take my meds, but then I fool myself into thinking that I don’t need them because I feel so damn good.

      Pregnant and not sure of my mental state, I returned to Santa Rosa. When I arrived home with my news, Riley and my mother shunned me. They were beyond angry and thought I was foolish to have let such a thing happen to me. I was pregnant and broke; my mother rejected me, and Riley, jealous, insulted, and just plain mean, was not going to let me be pregnant with some Spaniard’s baby and live with him and our children. Again, even with my “mood swings,” an abortion was not an option. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Somehow, through all of this, my children gave me a sense of purpose and hope. While pregnant, I didn’t take any medications for the disorder and yet remained level. In that moment of crisis, my children were my medicine.