Tag Archives: mania

You’ll Know it When You Feel it

You’ll know it. You’ll wake up and get into your car. Shaking off the grog you hear some solid rock, your steering wheel serves as an impromptu drum. No. It’s more. It’s a full drum kit. Get some oomph into. Now head bang. Close. We aren’t quite there. Now scream the lyrics when the chorus drops. Oh yeah, you’re there. And if you don’t think you are, give it an hour.

It occurs to me that many “normal” people probably do what I just mentioned. Not me, not normally.  I envy people that have that normal sense of energy or happiness. I don’t have that sort of function.  I only get like this when my manic states hit (Happy State Activate).  Actually, it’s not always happy. I get more mood swings in manic states. I don’t have the crippling sexual desires at the moment, just want to get into a fight.

Sometimes they’re all happy, and I will dance. Not right now. I want to fight. I want an excuse to scrap.  I haven’t been in a fight. Not a “real” fight anyway.  I don’t know why this happens in some of my manic states. I fantasize that this guy in front of me at the convenience store is about to pull out a gun when his hand goes to his waist. Oh, he’s just adjusting his pants. Damn. Wait what? No. An absence of guns is good.

I’m impulsive. It’s difficult. In that line, my heart becomes a war drum as adrenaline strikes me. BOOM DUM. BOOM DUM. I feel it in my head and face. I start to take a subtle stance. Then he just pays for cigarettes and my heart calms down. I’m better now. It’ll happen again later, but it’s been like that for years.

Oh, the sexual appetite stuff? Sometimes it is crippling.  I may have a project or homework assignment do, and I masturbate for hours instead. Hours. There are times when I have a similar urge and am not in a place where I can relieve it. Everything else around me starts to agitate me, I can’t focus. I’m simply trying to hide my erection that threatens to force an awkward situation.  In class I can’t focus. At work I can’t focus. In conversations, I’m absent even though I hear my words.

Anyway. It’s violent manic today. I like it well enough, I’m not ever going to hurt someone, but I’ll certainly kick up the Disturbed and other angry music.  When manic mode activates, you sure as Hell will know it.

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

Lo and Behold

When I’m doing well, I’m doing amazing. I forget how many weeks ago I had my first, and what should be my only suicide attempt. I could easily figure out, but it feels so far back, like I’m ready to just leave it in the past, what would be the point?

I think I finally found a medicine that works for me. At least for now, yes, I’m slightly paranoid about this near mania state being yanked out from under me. But I mean, over a decade of dealing with this business? Dropped out of college not once or twice, but five times? Tried hard to ruin friendships and hate myself throughout all of that. Given that most of my life has been lived under the terms of mental illness, a reprieve, though very welcome, feels so unlikely. If you’d have told me, like some of my friends did, a few months ago that I could find “normal”, I’d have scoffed and explained why I couldn’t.

Now, I’m past that. I’m so much better than normal, and I’m loving it. Every day feels like a manic episode. I’m excited, have high energy, I want to laugh and enjoy things. I spread my talents and my skills and I sit back and admire them. I love music. I love playing my guitar (even though I’m often feeling sick and my joints hurt). I love playing video games again, I get excited talking about different things with my friends. I ACTUALLY carry conversations on a daily basis with most of my friends (even though most can still be counted on one hand).

Point being. I feel good. So very good. Weeks have gone by. WEEKS, I mean, I could not even comprehend this level of feeling good just a couple months ago. I get normalish sleep, I don’t get anxious about things. There are a few remnants that hang over me, but I don’t stress about them. I just let them be. I started taking on some good projects, some creative, well, MOST creative, no, ALL creative haha.

That feels good. I’m writing story for some friends to play a tabletop RPG with. I’m drawing, something I really never do. I’m writing a song even! I’m so close to finishing it. All these projects, I would normally get the ideas in a manic state, write them down and abandon them a few days later citing this or that. But now?
Now, I plan them out, I filled up a notebook with ideas, and notes and how to achieve them, stuff like that. Man, when my brain works, it works beautifully. I’m confident in my abilities, damn near even cocky. I like that. Been a long time since I wanted to toot my own horn.

Despite competing in Intel International Science and Engineering Fair twice and even placing 1st at state in my category one year, I felt so sure it was all a fluke. That stuff was reinforced when I had to drop out of college again… and again… and again. That’s just the reality of being bipolar for me though. Because here I am, on a good path now. Making steps to accomplish a lot of these projects now.

A big thank you to all of my friends. You know which ones you are. I love you all. You’ve put up with my bad times and even often supported me through them. I hope I can provide half of what you did for me. Not in the spirit of reciprocation, but because that’s who I am. I would want to do that if we were close friends and you were somehow unaware of my… erm… difficulties. That’s who I am. And being mentally healthy? Well, Hell, that’s just having the ability to be the best of me. And I’ll be damned if I ain’t awesome. Cause I got some great things in store, just you wait and see.

I often end the posts on a note sort of like a toast. “To this or that” I might say. I don’t need to toast this though, not tonight. Toasts always feel like a well wisher’s hopes. I’m not hoping now. I’m believing. Believing that I can do things I only dreamt of before. A man like me? Smart, observant, rational, quick witted, generous, and a decent mug to boot? I can do great things, and I aim to do them.

With a slightly toast-like ending despite my previous statements, I say to any of you who struggle or have known the struggle of mental illness, it can get better, just stay persistent. Anyone who has friends or family in this struggle, they won’t believe your incessant nagging that it gets better, but never stop nagging them, show them it gets better, show them blogs of people who are dealing better now, show them this one, despite its terribly ineffective gathering of followers (Yes, I definitely need to redo my whole look of this blog, not just the aesthetic either). To loving those in your life and to getting better to be the best you, I bid thee a goodnight.

I Feel Good…. Really good… Phenomenally Good. Astronomically Good. Astounding!

Yeah, so magically better? Maybe? It’s kind of odd. Last month I felt like suicide attempts were appropriate or in order. This month? Hell no! For the first time in God knows when. I feel normal. No, screw that (even deleted that expletive in place of “screw”) I’m amazing, far beyond normal.

It feels like a manic episode. And I kept waiting for it to bottom out. Just waiting, a slight paranoia creeping in. But then a week goes by. Championed a whole week! Nothing happens. Then a couple more days, still nothing. No, in fact it intensifies! Bizarre! I kept waiting for it to get worse. But, it hasn’t. Then I broke up with my girlfriend, it was the right thing to do. To be clear, she was being a great girlfriend, I have my reasons and I felt we were moving in different directions. She did nothing wrong, but it hurt to break up. I thought “This is the turn, this is where things go really south”. And I lamented, I cried all night and hurt so bad. Then the sun rose, and it still hurt a lot, but I found so much relief when she was going to remain my friend. I was able to accept it as doing the right thing. And there was no depressive episode.

In fact this seemingly manic episode got even crazier. Despite feeling sick physically, I have been dancing at work for the past couple days. I did the Carlton, I did this thing where I pumped my fists and shuffled my feet. And the people who saw me? I could give few fucks, pardon the language. I even had this swagger to my step as I went about my day. Two days ago, I even smiled so much, my face hurt. Can that even happen?

Jeeze, it feels so great to know that there’s hope. I know this could go south, I know for any number of reasons this could end. But here it is, going on 3 weeks, not only no incidents, but not even a glimmer of self harm or hopelessness. That’s going to be documented here now. So if it does go south (hopefully not when) I can see, I was doing fantastic.

If I have any friends that know me from recent times and they are reading this, they are probably wondering what in the serious eff. I am too. But I can’t really care. The meds have got to be working. It’s nice for once. I sleep well, brain works, feel good, even dance, I don’t dance, that’s not a thing I do! But now, maybe it is, and I kinda like that.

Even last night I spent a couple hours drawing while listening to electronic music. That’s another thing, music is amazing now. I get goosebumps when I listen to some songs. I get pumped up, it for all intents and purposes feels like a manic episode that won’t end.

I hope it’s more than that. Right now though, just time to enjoy it. World, you’ve been a hard place for me for the most part, but I am closer than ever to being happy, and certainly to accepting who I am and being proud of it!

It all happens for a reason they say.

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.