Today I feel amazing. I feel hopeful and like this is going to all be ok. I know that it can be a side effect of downing my doses but I will gratefully hold onto it. I feel like my future is bright, like I have strength again. My resolve is strong.
I want so much. Not the things you can buy, not tangible objects. I yearn for stability. I feel like I can touch it now, it is just there.
Along with these feelings I worry, I worry that my mood is swinging up. That I will soon be struggling, in a hypomanic state. Yet worry is such an empty, redundant emotion. So I try to not go there.
And I will enjoy my elevated, happy mood for how, in this moment.
I’m back in the ward. Have been all week. I need to change my meds and I had no idea how hard it would be. Today has been the worst day so far. This morning I was high as a kite, I’ve not been able to sit down, then crash. I crumbled into a thousand pieces. I feel numb now, somewhere in a void, devoid of any emotion. Any at all.
I miss my kids, my partner. My pets and home. I’m missing work tomorrow and I love my job so much. I’m in a place where the minutes tick on, and not a lot actually happens. With my thoughts. Alone.
I’m worried that my new meds won’t be effective. I’m worried that I will have to go back on what I’ve been on (Epilim and Seroquel), and they haven’t really worked for me. They kept me dull. Down. Just below the threshold of ‘normal’. Almost depressed, never actually truly happy. So yes I am putting a lot of hope on this. That it will be successful. That I will be able to function normally. That I won’t feel so desperately dull. I want to feel fulfilled, not empty.
I am tired of feeling envious of those who don’t have to live with what I do.
There are two storms brewing in the sky tonight. One one to the east, the other to the west. I’m watching the clouds converge and the lightning show above, hoping that this energy can be harvested within me, that I can harness the opposing sides of me, that I can become one. That I can feel again, and not be so exposed and raw.
Sometimes I am weak
Sometimes I am strong
Most of the time I feel like I don’t belong
In a crowded room, I’m a face in a frame
With less numbers I feel ashamed
I’m small. I am meek. I’m on my knees…
Seek the strength I know I have
Seek the thoughts I should have
I should have faith, I should be strong
Yet, how can I do that when I don’t belong
It seems so petty
seems so vain
that I should think these things…
So as I attempt to write without the ‘a’, ‘s’, and two other keys, I silently go demented. Technology should be easy…..
It has been a real rollercoaster ride for me since hearing about Robin Williams death. His life ended at his own hand and I feel so raw, so empty. I feel sad. It woke me up.
Yesterday the news broke. Yesterday I spent the entire day in a state of profound depression, crushed, immobile and paused. I tried to think about why this was affecting me so much. I tried to contemplate. I tried to make sense, reason. In a world that is so hard, so harsh and abrasive I tried to remember him. Honour him.
That didn’t come until today. Though I don’t think that I truly did honour him. How can you honour someone who seemed to have it all? That you didn’t personally know, but felt like you could? How can you profess anything but dismay at the passing of someone so influential. Someone so funny. Seemingly positive. Someone so unique and artistic that we, the world, felt like he was part of our family. He was part of our upbringing, he was part of a movement that opened our minds to so much.
So I am going to honour him now with my pitiful, meek words. I thank him for all he gave us, and will continue to give us. My heart goes out to his family, his circle. His people. His crew. His wife. Those who nurtured him through his dark days. Him, when he pulled through those dark days. Him, when he had the strength to fight the dark demons of depression. Him, when he found the strength to commit himself to projects, perform, create, when his demons were most certainly in full force attack mode. Him, when he inspired the world when unbeknownst to us, he was suffering.
Let us not define him by the fashion in which he left this world. Let us not define him by his illness. Let us not define him by his tragedy.
Let us remember him for his craft. Let us remember how he rocked generations. He was amazing, so hilariously intelligently funny. Fast witted. He is still one of the people I would love to sit at a dinner table with.
Nanoo nanoo, Robin.
So… I was told that I was brittle. That I had a form of bipolar that should be treated differently. Because brittle.
Brittle is a word I use for something that is easily broken. Old, worn. Fragile. It is no surprise, upon further investigation, that the word is rarely used to describe someone with bipolar. According to what I was told and what I’ve read, someone who has brittle bipolar is generally unreceptive to medications, swings quickly from depression to mania when prescribed anti-depressants and can relapse quickly without warning into either states of mind.
This describes me.
It is hard to admit this. It is hard to admit that I stand on the edge of a cliff. At all times. Am I overthinking this? It is highly possible. Now I am feeling like I need to be hyper-aware of my ‘moods’. Ready to defend them. Ready to fob them off. Ready to admit to them.
Then there is the excuse part. Do I excuse my feelings because of this. I have noted changes in my mood today already. Is this because I understand more about my self? Or am I looking for an excuse, a compromise.
Anyone who knows me knows that I am not brittle. I am not a wallflower. I am not fragile. But only I truly know my self and I know this to be true. Have I hidden for this long? I remember being called a delightful assortment of names (namely ‘weirdo’, ‘crazy’ etc) even in primary school. I don’t like thinking about things like this. I want to normalize it and say that it was ‘general kid behaviour’. And what the kids said was ‘generally what kids say’.
So I will chalk that up to that.
The visions have started again. Even though my meds were upped. How can that be? I hate my peripheral buddies. Dark and ominous. Always right there. My volume button goes up and all of a sudden I am hearing things I don’t ‘usually’. The earth. The world. The universe. I am nothing in this universe. A mere speck. How can a speck make a difference? Does this particular speck want to make a difference?
My dreams are vapid yet sensory. I feel like I am awake all night, experiencing the spectacle that is my imagination. I have an alternate life there. Sometimes they carry on, from one moment or day to the next, often it is a new story. I find it unbelievable that I can survive like this, it is taking all of my energy to remain aware all of the time. Even when I am asleep.