What My Mixed Mania Episode Looks Like
It’s being able to only sleep six hours in the past 48 but being so exhausted I can’t think straight or remember anything.
It’s being so high in the mania that I don’t even realize I’m spending almost all of my time day dreaming and having conversations with people who aren’t there.
It’s hearing classical music playing knowing damn well I’m the only one home.
It’s not being able to remember what was real and what wasn’t.
It’s laying in bed for hours at a time starving but not having the will power or energy to even walk to the kitchen.
It’s the collapse that comes after trying to hide for weeks that my mind was slowly self-destructing again, while I continually did regrettable things I still haven’t spoken of.
It’s the fear of what will happen if I even walk out my bedroom door.
It’s all the noises in my head so loud that I can’t shut off.
It’s the voice in my head telling me how much easier everyone’s lives would be without me burdening them and how I should just disappear. At first, that means running away but quickly turns to darker thoughts I can’t escape.
It’s wanting to be able to crawl out of my own skin and uncontrollably sobbing because it becomes so unbearable.
I begin to think of every way to end it. It’s not that I want to die necessarily, but I convince myself anything would feel better than this.
It’s trying to think of everyone else who I hurt and all the pain I caused the last time I attempted and what it would do to them if I did again or died.
It’s trying to remember that this isn’t me, that I have bipolar disorder.
It’s snapping at everyone for no reason in a normal conversation or becoming overly emotional because something they’ve said or didn’t say set me off. It’s then trying to explain what I’m going through and feeling to friends, lovers and family but to no prevail because “normal” people don’t self-sabotage or cycle from being the life of the party and too carefree to not being able to get out of bed to shower or eat in less than a week.
It’s hearing my mother on the phone covering for me again to friends and family because I’m so ashamed of the mess I think I am and cannot do it myself.
It’s having my dad check in on me every couple minutes and seeing the worry in both of my parents’ eyes that I’m going to try to hurt myself again like last time.
It’s feeling guilty for my state of being but not being able to change it.
It’s justifying why anyone who has ever abandoned or hurt me did so because how can I blame them? Hell, if it were up to me, I would even walk out on myself. I tell myself I’m not worth it and I wouldn’t have stuck around either.
It’s questioning how anybody could ever love or want me if they really knew how dark things were on the inside, and thinking no one is ever going to want to deal with this.
It’s being so disappointed because I thought I had done things right and took the measures to avoid an episode but it caught up with me anyway and I’m back right where I started.
It’s calling into work again because I still haven’t slept so now the paranoia and hallucinations are taking over and I have a panic attack before I can walk in.
It’s questioning what everyone is going to think now that they’ll find out I’m “crazy,” and if they’ll even still be there.
It’s that fight-or-flight feeling coming on and not being able to imagine fighting.
It’s feeling so weak I just want to give up on life but reminding myself it’s been worse than this before and I survived and made it through that.
It’s remembering there are people who love me, and they haven’t given up on me.
It’s knowing this too shall pass and I will be stronger afterwards.
It’s reminding myself it’s not my fault. I did not chose this. I’m just as sick as someone with a physical illness.
It’s being proud of myself because this time I got help before I self-medicated or hurt myself.
It’s remembering this is not me, it’s a mental illness.
If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, the Trevor Project at 1-866-488-7386 or text “START” to 741-741.
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Thinkstock photo by Krianti