Few things in my life have complicated or distressed me more than my bipolar disorder. I thought OCD was bad. I thought I had everything under control. Bipolar disorder changes everything. It turns your life upside down. It makes you do things you are ashamed of. I’m at my worst when I’m manic. I don’t want to exist when I’m depressed. And sometimes I’m both at the same time (a mixed episode). It isn’t easy. And it isn’t fair. But it is my life.
Here is the DSM-1V’S definition of mania: “A distinct period of abnormally and persistently elevated, expansive or irritable mood and abnormally and increased goal- directed activity or energy, lasting at least 1 week and present most of the day (or any duration if hospitalization is a necessity)”. One of the symptoms is an increased sense of self-esteem or even grandiosity. Even though I never really had the grandiosity, I do get an inflated sense of self-esteem when I’m manic. I become mega-extroverted. I will approach random guys and hit on them. I feel sexier, more confident. I don’t sleep when I’m manic. One time I was at school I went several weeks on two or three hours of sleep a night. Those few weeks culminated with a suicide attempt.
I talk more when I’m manic. I’m told I’m more charismatic, funnier. And that makes me smile through my tears because I feel a little like a clown. A jester designed to amuse others. I don’t laugh at my own jokes anymore. I am a joke. I’m a writer and when I am manic I feel like writing. I usually write about seven poems or chapters of a novel when I’m manic. And I can get away with that because I’m productive. No one bats an eye if you’re productive. You are supposed to be productive, right? Finally, I “engage in activities that have high potential for painful consequences” (DSM-IV). Simply put, I’m reckless. I don’t think before I act. I’m impulsive, heady, destructive. I’m a bowling bowl and all the pins are set up to fall.
Another part of bipolar disorder is the depression. I usually experience mania and depression at the same time but not always. When I'm depressed, I feel empty and hollow especially at night. I hug my Pooh Bear and absolutely sob because how could my life turn out like this? It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this! I had plans for a career. I wanted to be a mother one day. What did I do to deserve this? I lose interest in a lot of things like my writing and my projects (though if I am manic I am only more hyperfocused on them). Sometimes I can’t stop sleeping. Because I’m on so many medications, it is hard to determine if I’m depressed or if the meds are just making me extra tired. I go through the day with no energy feeling like I’m carrying rocks on my heart….like my heart is lifting weights. I am wracked with guilt for the smallest things or even thoughts or things I would never do. I feel like I’m a burden on the world; that I let everybody down. To anybody with depression I am speaking your language.
But the worst is the black thoughts. Insidious, poisonous…they’ve gotten in my head before. I can fight them off now. But people made of stronger stuff than me have succumbed to these siren calls. I remember rocking back and forth on the floor of my dorm room as an ambulance was rushed to the building. I remember screaming in the ER. The white walls of the mental institution. Ha. Such a cliché.
I don’t just have bipolar disorder. I’m bipolar with psychotic features which means in extreme cases I have delusions and hallucinations. My delusions usually revolve around thinking someone loves me when they actually don’t. These aren’t crushes. These are complete off- the- wall ideas. The first delusion I remember was when I was eight years old and I thought my forty year old married gym teacher was in love with me. This disturbed me so much I faked illness to get out of class and listed ways to kill him. I also thought my best friend was in love with me. He has stopped talking to me because I was too much to handle. I have heard voices telling me to kill myself. The voices have gotten explicit telling me they would take my friends, my reputation, my freedom, and my life. I began to think my friends were plotting against me. I screamed at them and got paranoid. Sometimes I can’t trust myself with what’s real anymore.
And that’s bipolar. It’s not sexy. It’s not seductive. It’s awful. It’s terrible. I know I’ll be all right but I’m crying as I write this because it’s so hard to live on this rollercoaster I never signed up to ride. It’ll be okay right?
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