I wanted to write this when I was going through an episode. Because as much as Wikipedia, therapists, counselors, heck, even people down the street tell you, any mental health disorder isn't quite describable unless you're presently going through it. So, let's talk “bipolar disorder”, shall we?
At the moment, I'm feeling low. The not-so-familiar feelings of despair are settling in. I'm trying to piece together why. I've just moved into a lovely two-bedroom with my boyfriend. We're both happy together.
Alone, though, when he's away at work, and I'm left scribbling on these pages, a silent gasp for air starts creeping into my chest.
Before all of it
I can't breathe. So I calm myself down. I've become an expert at this. Ever since I was young, I'd been anxious over tiny little things. I am giving a speech somewhere or answering a question in class —that moment when you know the answer and want to lift your hand to say it. But you stop yourself because your heart just can't stop pacing.
I used to tell myself; it's not you that will win this thing. So when it's me, I'd be happy like I didn't see it coming. Like it wasn't always going to be me to win this thing. But I'm not a proud person, so I won't think that, no, because it makes me nervous.
I always had streams of thoughts flushing through my brain like a broken dam. I always had more than one explanation for something, for someone. Maybe Steve likes me because I'm smart. Or perhaps it's because he thinks I'm pretty. I need to show him more of that. Of bright or pretty? Should we do both?
I wonder if people think like that too. I remember seeing a post on Twitter about always having thoughts running through your head. Do you experience that too? Oh, but of course. Everyone, a moment of silence for the person that just discovered thinking.
Thinking, thought processing. It feels so overwhelming sometimes. And I mean overwhelming in the sense that I don't think anyone has experienced thinking like this before.
Moments Before It Happened
My saving grace is that I always had control over myself, over my brain. Like when you know you're rambling, you say it out loud to show whomever you're aware of how TMI you've suddenly become.
But see, on this particular day; I couldn't stop myself. I was losing control over my brain. And then suddenly, it felt like people could see it too.
That's where the party begins when you factor other people into your self conscious. You start to reason with them in some form of telepathic way. I swear I thought I saw him nod back at me. Like he understood, but that another one needs more convincing.
I don't know how long I lost it, but I could feel it and could not make it stop. So I got out of there and went looking for my friend. But I couldn't tell when it was my turn to speak. When was the best time to break down all the thoughts in my head to him? It's always so natural. But now? I need to calculate it so I don't come off as awkward.
Eventually, I head back home. And thinking about it now, it's how my anti-social self would have described my past actions that day. Anti-social behavior. Ha!
The Day After Bipolar Hit
Same old routine. By now, I'm beginning to lose my social skills. I must figure out when to start, interject, or end conversations. I don't know how to excuse myself, to say that I was going home and that we'd meet tomorrow, or never. It seemed rude just to get up and walk away.
At some point, I ended up at a police station. Okay, now things were beginning to get messy. Now, I couldn't leave. So I gave up and watched the sunset. Until I was at a hospital and left alone, this was my only chance to escape!
Somebody Help Me
My flight back home was horrendous. My father prayed for me and a stranger we'd picked up along the way. I got home to many familiar faces my parents had called to pray with us. There were times when I'd feel awake and stare at the sky. The clouds and their patterns would help move my thoughts so I didn't just seem stuck.
Church one. Pastor two. Prayers and fasting. Then hospitals. Oh, did I mention that I hate needles? I screamed like a champ, but they held me down like tigers pouncing on fresh meat. I'm told I spent a week there.
Back to the Old Self?
I couldn't tell you when I started to feel like myself again. I was on medication now—lots of tablets a day, then a couple, then two, then one. I'd see a psychiatrist every month. He'd ask me how I was doing, whether I was eating and sleeping well. There was so much I wanted to talk to him about, but anti-social Joy Anne was back, and I couldn't complain.
Apparently, I had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder.
I learned later that a psychiatrist prescribes the medicine. If you want a heart-to-heart, someone to probe those "and how does that make you feel" questions, you'd be better placed finding a therapist.
A Small Bump in the Road
So, I stopped taking my medication some months later. The reasons for why I did still make sense to me today, but please, do not try to do so. Here's why.
I couldn't wrap my head around why I was on medication for a girl like myself, with some anxiety issues but not much to warrant a doctor. A psychotic break is scary, but indeed months of medicating ought to do the trick.
Month one was okay. The days after, though, I started seeing things.
I can't stress this enough. When a person says they see things, it's unpleasant to admit. And when they say they're seeing things at night, it's a cautionary tale that one. But, when they say they're seeing things at night, in their sleep, now that's something I wish people would take more seriously.
I don't mean nightmares. No. Those you wake up from. The stuff I see sometimes I can't wake up until they're done unraveling. Most of them stem from some messed up things I experienced in childhood. Others are from unprocessed anger, fear, disgust, and other negative sentiments I don't have a name for.
If you have these, all it takes is bringing them up with your doctor, and they'll give you some pills for that. Easy. I wish I had spoken up earlier.
Don't get me wrong though. Pills don't always help. Perhaps as a short-term solution. But long term? Do you ever get better or just become a vessel for pumping drugs into? What happens if you stop taking pills for whatever reason? Well, everything comes streaming back.
And Now? Life Post Bipolar
Don't ask. I am as good as new. Like nothing ever happened. I still am scared to speak my mind sometimes. I still cringe under my superiors. And I still feel low sometimes.
I might cry for no reason, but that's become routine. Thank God for my boyfriend, who makes me calm. He's my saving grace from "bad, lucid dreams."
Though if I went home, for example, and all the horrific memories I've been through streamed in, I can't sleep to save my life. I had to scamper out of there back to my new haven at dawn to catch some undisturbed sleep before the day began.
But otherwise. All else is good. All else is fine. Remember that. It's all going to be just fine.
While at it, you might want to check out our “Did He Just Rape Me? What to Do If You Have Been Raped” article. The economy has never been worse. It’s nice to know of some alternative ways to earn passive income. Otherwise, do let us know in case of any questions or concerns. Always here to help!