My bipolar is my greatest enemy and my oldest friend, but what exactly is it?
While browsing through my stuffed inbox, I found an email from Psych Central, which eventually, after much link-clicking, led me to this page: http://psychcentral.com/lib/the-two-types-of-bipolar-disorder/000612?all=1
I’ve discussed with my psychiatrist how crazy and alone I feel before, and I can’t remember what she told me I have. According to this page, I have something somewhere between ‘Bipolar 1 Group 5’ and Bipolar Depression.
How exactly do I feel?
Well, it may start with a giggle but turn into a choked sob. I may laugh hysterically, blowing something that may not even be funny to other people far out of proportion. (It’s difficult to not laugh and cry simultaneously constantly while living in Oklahoma.)
I find other people depressingly hilarious. They’re so sad, but they’re so sure. (Political rant withheld.)
I prefer the inappropriate and vulgar to the pristine.
Right now I am: troubled, excited, anxious, depressed, feeling like I’m worthless but also destined to be famous, feeling useless, pent-up energy coated in exhaustion. I could fall asleep at any moment, but I’m in pain, so never mind, I can’t.
I’m generally quite paranoid about other people, especially those with whom I must share this state. I’m terrified of every kind of person, except the kind that is just like me – presumably the scariest of all! I occasionally entertain thoughts of killing. I do not enjoy this thoughts, per se, but they cross my mind nonetheless. I’m terrified of death. I was convinced that my golden birthday, the 16th, would be my last. When I woke up after several handfuls of pills were consumed the night before, I realized something had either gone terribly wrong or wonderfully right, or maybe it’s the other way around. That was not the last time I tried. I imagine falling – from grace, from a cliff, or into an empty pool. Since then, I’ve become convinced that the next birthday will be my last, and I’m amazed that I’ve made it so far.
I often toy with the idea of my own mortality. I occasionally become convinced that I have multiple sclerosis. My aunt has it, my great uncle died from it, and I’ve experienced almost every recorded symptom of it. But hey, maybe I’m just crazy.
I was given medication for ADHD, but I had to be prescribed an anti-anxiety medication in addition to it, to level me off. Now I’m still stuck with Klonnie, while the amphetamines are gone.
I can’t hold a thought, form a sentence, without cringing, grinding my teeth…
My dark thoughts race.
My eyes feel both gluey and unglued. I have a ton of ‘floaters’ and ‘sparkles’ that remain unexplained.
I’m unbalanced, both when I stand and when I think.
I want to create. I want to embrace the elusive mania, [a red dragon], but can’t summon a signal.
I don’t even have the patience or attention span to play my favorite video games anymore.
I imagine my hair fanned out, in flames. I imagine myself at 23, ‘woe is me’, but I’m just not combustible any more.
In person I am quiet, shy, withdrawn, fearful, timid, tearful, when I really just want to scream “FUCK” and run around stealing shit and kicking people. Oh, those were the days.
Oh, I still get upset in public. I still fill up on rage, I just seem stuck, filled, unable to release it, unable to summon the dragon, breathe flames and “burninate the countryside”.
I remember things that seem to have far too much significance to me, while forgetting to complete simple, yet important, tasks.
I’ve applied for disability, but unless The Cell’s technology comes to fruition, no one else will ever know what it’s like in here.
I feel so fucking stupid.
Thanks for reading, if you do.