I didn’t take my medication last night. I felt great waking up this morning, six hours before my medicated daze would normally wear off. When I was first diagnosed with bipolar, I had been back but just a month from my little running away from home stint. I was living with friends, thinking I couldn’t tolerate it at home. I was 18 then. Still in high school, but far from normal.
I was, AM, brilliant, able to see or think things through in a flash that normal people seem to require some deliberation on. But, I had these voices, one actually, just singular. It would challenge me, my motives, my merit. It would talk about what I really intended or wanted from life, often quite unpleasant. It would challenge me to kill or harm myself, and when I didn’t, I would endure ridicule for being too weak or chicken shit to do so. So when this started leaking out in heaps, whatever the fuck psychosis I was enduring, a couple friends took notice. Suddenly, I’m leaving my friend’s home and entering the hospital.
“Manic Depressive Disorder with psychotic features” they said. Being ignorant to the whole real mental health thing, it took a couple days before I realized that what I had was commonly referred to as bipolar disorder. They put me on a med. It was soothing for a while. To be in that hospital. Mostly everyone was there for depression, it’s easy to form a community when most people have something in common.
I was also put on a sleeping pill in the hospital, Trazadone I think. When I was moved from the intense supervision wing to the more relaxed one, some interesting things happened. Wait, hold on let’s back up. This is a place where I fell in love with my now ex, maybe that’s a story worth archiving too.
She called when I was in the hospital, my now ex, let’s call her Jane for sake of anonymity. So Jane calls, says she got the info from my friend (the one I was living with) and was just worried and wanted to check on me. We tried a date a couple months before hand, but I was hung up on another girl and so I didn’t take her out again after that despite promising a second date. I was a jerk, but I was fixated on that other girl. Until this hospital trip. After I ended the call with Jane, I felt sort of silly, just light headed and well, flattered.
Backing up a little more, this girl had a crush on me, she had silly names for me and all that business. She drew me little things and made me little gifts. The Valentine’s Day months before my hospital trip, she bought me a pocket watch, one that was a gesture from my favorite anime show at the time. I hardly received gifts. It was nice. I had spent a little effort getting flowers for someone else that same day and it made me feel like an ass when I found that gift in my locker. But, I was hung up on that other girl, there was no getting through to me. Not all too unlike now I guess. That’s sort of amusing, heh.
Anyway, that evening after Jane calls, I dwell on this. The girl I was hung up on, let’s go ahead and give her a name, how about Kara? So, even though Kara had visited earlier in the week to check on me too, this phone call with Jane was all I could think about. Had I really given her a chance? Should I try to see if I can make something work? She did give me that pocket watch. No one ever really gives me gifts. But, she did. And it wasn’t just something generic. She took the time to know me and find out what I like…
Thoughts like that passed back and forth for hours. In the coming days they would only get more relentless. And I was happy for that. I still had some strong attachment to Kara. But, Jane, she was magnificent. I gave her another chance. When we first broke up a few months ago, I regretted ever giving her that chance. I even said some really hurtful things. I told her I was never in love with her and that it was just rationalized.
That was a lie. That was me shielding myself from how I really felt because I didn’t want to keep hurting. If anything, THAT was the real rationalization. Now I’m in a different place, I’m growing comfortable with who I am and she’s getting better too. I can’t say where I’ll be when I die, I know where I’m at now, and maybe I don’t like having feelings for someone who is unavailable, but it will work itself out one way or another.
Originally I was going to write about my first trip to the hospital and focus on that to show evidence of my experience with bipolar then relate that to now, as for why I’m on a med commonly prescribed for schizophrenia. The truth is I’ve been taking this med, and it’s been doing little. What’s been helping me is seeing my psychologist and working things out on my own with some help from my friends.
Everything happens for a reason. It just happens that the reasons they happen are only one in six billion chance that it’s for your benefit. There’s a lot of motivations in the world and a lot of people who have them. Maybe that’s why there’s so much difficulty in comprehending why things happen. I don’t know, I know that I’m off the med and I feel good. I feel active and alive, and this all too pleasant. Perhaps it is mania, but it’s nice to at least have thoughts again.