BIPOLAR MIND

My Life With Bipolar Disorder

Living Bipolar...

Hopefully this will be somewhat coherant and understandable. When discussing my mental illness I tend to ramble, disconnect and not always make a lot of sense. I’ll try.

I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder (mixed) in 2003 after a suicide attempt. It usually takes such measures for a bipolar to be finally diagnosed. I had been feeling increasingly depressed, was self injuring, and feeling suicidal for a long time, and when I was finally diagnosed it was almost a relief - just to know that something really was wrong and that things were finally making sense.

I was always a fiery, hot tempered, smart-mouthed child. I always had something to say about everything and my moods were always liable to change at the drop of a hat, so I’m not sure when my real symptoms of bipolar disorder started to manifest themselves. I remember at about age 12 that I started feeling like something was wrong in my head. I saw the way I reacted to things, the way I felt emotions, and the way I thought and it was all so drastically different from the way my peers and even adults did things. I didn’t know I was depressed. I thought I was just sad because I had a difficult life. It wasn’t until I had every reason in the world to be happy and I was still sad that I started to understand depression.

I’m not going to lie to you. I hate, hate, hate being bipolar. Honestly, I hate being bipolar more than I hate being HIV+. Does that sound weird? Well, it’s probably because you don’t understand bipolar disorder. Being bipolar is like being locked in your head with your most evil, hurtful, scary thoughts ALL THE TIME. With no escape. Ever.

Being bipolar affects my daily life more than being HIV+ does. Being bipolar affects every part of my life. From my friendships, my daily interactions, my self image, my routine, everything. There isn’t a part of my life that isn’t touched by mental illness.

I cannot expect you to truly understand if you do not have bipolar disorder, or even major depression. This is not the depression most people experience. The kind of depression that goes away. This is a pervading, constant roller coaster. This is deeper. When this depression goes away is it followed up with mania - a feeling of wonderful grandeur. Feeling that you’re on top of the world and can do anything! Mania is wonderful, but you know what mania means? It means as soon as mania ends there’s a crash. And that crash is HARD. Then there’s more depression. It’s a cycle that never ends.

I have often been asked if I hear voices. Not in the sense that they are telling me to do things, but yes, I hear voices. All the time. I hear my own voice constantly. I don’t think thoughts - I hear them. Inside my head is like a cacophony of sound, all the time. It keeps me from sleeping. It keeps me from concentrating.

Every day I hear a voice that tells me I am worthless. That my life means nothing and that I’m just wasting resources for people that aren’t shit like me. Every day is an honest to God struggle not to succumb to that voice. Not to believe it. Every day I have to overpower that voice and some days I am just too tired to do it and that voice wins.

When I have panic attacks I hear loud talking, yelling, voices. Like a crowd that makes no audible sense, just constant talking noise.

Bipolar and anxiety is what keeps me from working and having normal relationships with people. I cannot deal with socializing like a “normal” person can. Socializing for me, is honestly like torture. Listening to conversations sounds like constant noise. Often times I have a hard time keeping up with what is being said around me. It’s almost like there’s sandpaper rubbing against my brain and all I want to do is get the hell away from it. Carrying on conversations causes anxiety because I’m trying to hard to keep up with all that is going on. I am not always capable of holding a conversation with you.

It’s so difficult to explain, which is probably why no one understands the amount of space I need.

I know that people think I am just a bitch, or that I am rude and antisocial, but really I am struggling more than they can even understand. It is not a thing to take personal. It’s not necessarily something wrong with you. It’s the way my brain works. Or doesn’t work, perhaps.

I know being friends with me is hard because I don’t attend parties/social get togethers and that I don’t always keep in touch the way most people are able to go. I tend to fall off the planet a few times a year, so I know that I am not there the way most people need me to be. I understand that and I’m sorry, but I cannot help it.

I tend to get smothered by interaction VERY easily. I start to feel that people aren’t giving me enough space and that I literally cannot breathe. When I feel like that I tend to get irritable and frustrated. My initial reaction is that if I be huffy to whoever is in my life they’ll leave me alone. That’s what I need most of the time - a desperate need to be left alone.

I think people think that when you’re mentally ill you need constant checking on and to be always asked how you are etc., when in my case (of course I don’t speak for all) I just need to be left alone. I will ask for help if I need it. Mostly I want you to let me live my life without outside interference until I make it known otherwise. If I don’t speak to you for days it’s not because I hate you, it’s because I need space.

I need space because it’s the only semi-relief of all the noise in my brain. It’s the only way for me to disconnect and hear.

I know this makes no sense unless you’re like minded, and you know what? I’m glad it makes no sense to you because I would never wish another person to live this way. Honestly.

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