Bipolar is tiresome. It can be a constant chase while at the same a constant running. A chase for something normal, whatever that is, and running from whatever current episode your cursed with. It’s exhausting. And after 38 years of it it’s wearing me out. Today I feel dull.
My actual diagnosis is Bipolar 1 mixed, rapid cycling, severe with psychotic features. Though I only experience those features in major manic and depressive episodes. Which are not very often. If you don’t know what mixed is imagined either being the worst depressed you have ever felt in your life but at the same time having the most physical energy you have ever felt in your life happening at the same time, or it’s also when you cycle between mania and depression rapidly anytime as little as within hours, a day, a week, a month, etc. Never knowing what is coming next.
Out the entire bipolar spectrum, mood swings, depression and manic episodes are the worst with rapid cycling bipolar type. Rapid cycling is diagnosed when one has four or more depressive, hypomanic, manic, and/or mixed episode in a single year. I can experience an episode at least once a month.
Moods must immediately follow one another or have a short period free of extreme mood swings.
But no matter how mild or severe any episode or not it’s always about management. During any stable period it’s important to stick to any routine especially medication in order to avoid any kind of trigger. But during any episode it’s a whole other story.
Say goodbye to the person you want to be. The one you know you can be. One of the ugly ones returns. Maybe it’s the one that takes everything you feel away from you. Maybe it’s the one that feeds you lies and drags you around to keep up. Both tear you down.
It’s always the same. I never know it’s coming and I never know it’s here before it’s too late. Not until after I have begun to believe some kind of lie my mind has begun to feed me. An overreaction. Irritability has begun to become my norm and I have made some kind of stupid decision.
It’s been 37 years of depression and mania and my mind still doesn’t get it. I am open to being well. It’s always my goal, but so far, the episodes always come back.
Logically I’m ready for them in my mind, but when they start I’m always so mad, mad, MAD!
I have numerous tasks I need to complete yet I can’t find the concentration to even to stare at the TV. I feel dull. Which is the best description to describe the feeling of nothing. It’s such a pervasive feeling. It soaks up all of my cells.
Getting out of bed in the morning is not a problem for me. Unlike most who experience depression my brain in its continual cruel manner refuses to allow me to sleep. Too many sleepless nights and the shadows become my company whispering amongst each other.
The past 6 years have really been a struggle for me. Mostly due to outside stressors. My mania is more short lived than my depressions. My depressions typically come with suicidal ideations. Feelings and emotions are chemical reactions. They are biological. As is bipolar. Bipolar depression sucks the capability to feel right out of you. There is no sadness. Depression is just the closest term to describe it.
I always wonder, “Will this depression ever end?’
When I’m seriously depressed every minute feels like I’m living in hell and I am just closer and closer to death. I even begin to revert to my eating disorder thinking of which I have been in recovery from for well over a year.
Sometimes I get so depressed I can’t even have a conversation. Just spitting out the words is something I have to force myself to do. Every minute when I am well is filled with the possibility because I can choose what to feel and what to do. People take this granted. I may hurt deeper than others, but I see the sun brighter than others. They take for granted they can decide not to be mad about something or not let something worry them.
Bipolar disorder is not about fixing problems. I will always have screw ups. I can fix my problems. I have a choice with that. The main problem I have is that I can’t always fix bipolar disorder. I can manage it, or at least do my best, but I can’t fix something that is so broken. I feel that this will last forever and nothing will change the future. I will be suicidal again. I was just discharged from the hospital again on the 20th where I had two rounds of electroconvulsive therapy. Today I had an outpatient session. It’s inevitable those days will come. And come again.
I fear the possible bad choices I may make in the future and their consequences in my mania; even in my dark depressions I tend to wander off. I get very generous with my mine and my wife’s money. And worst of all, I crave alcohol. Mania tells you that you can do anything, go anywhere, be anyone and that nothing bad will ever happen! That you have no one to answer to.
Tomorrow I will call my psychiatrist to see him as soon as I can. I’ve been taking the same dosage of the same medication for years and I think my body has just become tolerant of it. I am tired and exhausted. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally from fighting against my bipolar. It’s heavy and relentless. It does not give up. But neither do I.
I Need To Say Goodbye
I need to say goodbye. I have to go now.
I’m sure I will be back someday.
If you see myself somewhere tell me I miss me.
And if it’s not too late tell me that I can stay.
Please ask me why I always have to go away.
I know my goodbye was so short and I am sorry.
The lights were just too bright for these two eyes.
I need to draw back and retreat into the darkness
of a world I know.
A world of pains disguise where I hide myself,
it suffocates my cries.
I hate this pounding; it’s so loud I cannot hear me.
Why do demons wish to kill me inside?
My mind cannot suffer through this life of pain much longer.
If I cannot breath again then I rather die.
With every beat I clench my fists and scream out, “Why?”
The pain has grown now to engulf my numbing body.
The blood throbbing to burst out of my skull,
pressing my face against the floor.
I try to free me.
from this blinding, spinning, stabbing, pounding hell.
Pain has bound me to its everlasting cell.
I feel possessed by pains pressure on my soul, grasping, reaching for the unaffected me.
Screaming aloud the blood escapes my weighing eyelids.
I know I lost the battle towards becoming free.
At least I had the chance to say goodbye to me.