|"Please Don't Judge Me, and I Won't Judge You, Because It Can Get Ugly, Before It Gets Beautiful." - Chris Brown||
So I've been gone for the past 4 months. Im sorry about that. Apart from tackling a very active bipolar brain, I also suffer from scoliosis. I went for surgery, to correct a 50 degree curve in my spine. What was life like before my surgery? Hard. To be in constant pain just because your not sitting correctly on a chair or a sofa, or to stand weird to suit the nature of your curve to avoid pain. What was my current status shortly after I found out about having surgery? Agitated depression. I couldnt hold the thought of being cut open down half the length of my back and singing "I am titanium" for the rest of my life. At this point, I was scared for my recovery, physically and mentally. I had never experienced intense racing thoughts for as long as 2 months. I was prepping myself for July to undergo surgery. For the first time I went to an appointment with my mum to see my psychiatrist and it was then we informed her and my care co-ordinator about the surgery I was about to have.
I will say this in the best simplified way possible: Living + mental illness =out of control. I felt, unable to control my moods. It was alien to me that I should at least try to recover my mood. Trying to do that is like trying to shake hands with a lion. The time I spent within the four walls of my bedroom surrounded around me the terror I felt–I used and still use alcohol to medicate these feelings. I say 'still use' because the last time I touched alcohol was last night, at a party. The flashbacks I experienced as a result are haunting me.
The unheard stories about suicide attempts of a friend who lives with depression, woke me up to the reality that bipolar disorder would not go away. I would never heard of these stories if it weren't for her being absolutely smashed out of head just to feel something. Bipolar will always be part of me, and at this time in my life, still young as I am writing these words, I want to be free. Free from the illness. Alcohol allowed me to adopt another identity: I am an addict. And that seemed better than being bipolar.
The emotional pressure, temptation to spend too much, drink too much, other peoples’ expectations of us (or our distorted perceptions of them) is upon us- the list of triggers and stressors just go on and on. Welcome to the Christmas Holdiays. One of the worst times for a bipolar person to be dealing with right now.
This is the holiday us bipolars dread the most and thats because the mood shifts challenge the struggle to stay sane. It’s holiday time, and this is my guide on how you can stay focused and not end up being sectioned by New Years Eve.
Today I have found myself sitting on my bed with my laptop keeping my legs warm and I thought- What better day to sit down and push out a blog out about rest.
I think I started realizing (from the push of others' opinions) there was something not right about me (I mean seriously not right) when I was aged 15/16/17... - Yes, 3 years in denial was strongly strife- Immediately after this discovery, only this year, I let it swallow me whole.
When you suffer all time highs (what you guys call mania) and you DON'T acknowledge it, a lot of very strange things happen to you.
Addiction becomes a pretty little friend, along with promiscuity, and zero ability to sleep.. but you won't realize ANY of this at the time, convincing yourself it's a normal thing...Later you will feel like poop, and most likely hate yourself for the plunge you just took, if you remember it. I call it a plunge because when it all crashes into you and explodes.. everything plunges in one direction, down. At least that's how it felt for me. Now I have a whole new appreciation for the expression "What goes up, must come down" It felt like I was trying to piece together the events of someone else's life, because there was no way in hell any of that could have really been me. And boy, did I refuse to believe so.
Apart from being bipolar 1, I’m also psychotic. Yay. Story of my life, but I’m going to share with you some stories of my life with the courtesy of my diary. I had highlighted things in pink, I guess that was code for P= Pink, P=Psychosis LOL. Anyway, here are some random brief’s written in random parts of my diary in the early days:
My Short Lived Experiences With Voices
Ah, the voices. Classical part of psychosis. You cant be psychotic without voices really, they are the main feature. The main feature, featured a lot last year. I used to hear them regularly. About 1-2 days a week, but several times within the day. They were unrecognisable, They would yell, whisper, say my name in different stresses. “Look!” “Watch Out!” “Hey You!” “Your about to die” “Dont try and get rid of me, I’ll just make your life a living hell” This brought on paranoia. I told my sister that night that I will kill her while I was sleeping. She kept her distance for a bit. Especially out of the kitchen.
As I moved on in life the voices became more persistent the more I ignored them. They were torturous, constantly in my mind and the voice became several voices. It shunned me into silence. I went into a catatonic state. I couldnt take the pressure anymore.
Yeah, this craved Early Intervention when I told the mental health team. These experiences are what got me on medication in the first place. How am I now? I still have voices in general, they come more when Im depressed and a fair amount when Im on an all time high, telling me to buy those shoes because you need them.
Curse those sodded voices.
I have gone mad. I tell this to myself and one friend. It aint no secret. I figure there’s no point in trying to cover it up; it’ll come out eventually. But I’m trying to stretch out “Eventually” because it will come out to my family and friends in ways you may never expect. The once silent gone loud, strong yet weak, non judgmental yet impulsive on my part rather gives away that something is wrong.
But people really don’t like the word “mad”. In fact, most often, what people say to me is, “no, you’re not!”. Well, actually, I am. I’m bipolar and I’m mad.
So What Do I Mean By Mad?
Well, it’s in the dictionary isn’t it? Let’s pull out ALL the definitons of what mad means:
Ah ha! The human brain. One of the best organs in the body. It measures, it categorizes, it makes connections and it remembers the square root of 144. I’m constantly awed by its power, and to have that power is beyond compare.
But one of the annoying things that can happen to a brain is that something gets stuck in it. Whether it be a song, or a catchy slogan. Somehow, even through its great power and ability, the catchy hook of the latest mainstream song from the charts gets stuck inside some errant neurons and plays over and over and over and over again. Some tiring stuff.
And this causes a lot more trouble in my bipolar brain than it does for others.