With Every Bipolar Mood Cycle, I Have to Find Myself All Over Again

“The secret of life, though, is to fall seven times and to get up eight times.” — Paulo Coelho

It has been a long and arduous decade since my first diagnosis of bipolar disorder, and I still haven’t found myself. Right before my diagnosis, I was in college, involved in a lot of activities, and was part of a cohort of students working toward a graduate degree. I felt things were great and thought I was achieving what I wanted in life, but my colleagues, teachers, and doctors popped that bubble for me when they expressed their concern for my health.

• What is Bipolar disorder?

I hadn’t realized that I stopped eating, that I started spending tons of money, nor that I was exercising in extreme excess, and I never slept despite being exhausted. I couldn’t see it. I thought I was on my way to greatness. But by the end of the summer going into senior year, I was given the ultimatum to go home or be admitted to the university hospital. Ultimately, the kind nudges from everyone helped me accept something was definitely wrong, and I went home and reassessed my options. I ended up in the hospital back home only about four months after moving back, and I spent almost a month there.

Since then, I’ve been questioning the memories I have of the person I used to be. Was I always bipolar? Did I always have these problems? What about my family? My therapist thinks it’s possible I’d struggled with it as a child,, but she also tried to focus me on the future as opposed to the past. And so I trudged forward, doing my best to manage this new person.

I’ve been on a lot of medications during the last decade. I diligently meet with my therapist weekly and my psychiatrist monthly (or more if necessary). I have tried to work, but am currently seeking disability at the urging of my psychiatrist and support group. Things seem OK, for now. But one thing still eludes me. One thing: me.

Bipolar created a different person for me, one for each cycle. Every cycle I go through changes, not only my energy level but also my interests. When I endure anhedonia (or lack of interest in anything), I often find myself unable to connect with others in the way I did only a few weeks ago. I struggle with my interpersonal relationships and any nuance I had. It hurts to try and maintain conversations when I’ve forgotten what I’ve learned or what I’d been sharing already. The role-playing game I wanted to join and made a character for? Daunting, exhausting, pointless. I couldn’t care less about it now. My constant cycling means I might have great attendance for a month, but suddenly drop off the face of the Earth.

Like most people who live with bipolar disorder, I experience regular mood cycles, and yes, I also experience them in sort of a timeline. I spend most of my year (about eight months) in mixed severe depression. The rest of the year is spent in mixed mania. In case you didn’t know already, there are a few different types of cycles: manic, hypomanic, mixed manic, mixed depression, depression, cyclothymic, and rapid cycling, as well as extreme mania/depression with psychotic features. I have bipolar II with psychotic depressive episodes, so I tend to cycle between mixed depression and mixed depression with psychotic features. Mixed hypomania cycles don’t last long for me.

Every time I cycle, I lose parts of myself, and I can usually feel it happening. For example, when transitioning from a somewhat stable hypomanic state to one of depression, especially with psychotic features, I become irritable and agitated. I can’t handle any change in structure or routine, and I lash out whenever something goes awry. This is usually preceded by feeling itchy or incredibly hot. I start to endure really intense sensory processing issues. Certain sounds hurt me, and any person’s touch will lead me to yell or completely shut down. And then I slowly start to become paranoid. Thoughts like, “Everyone hates me or looks down on me. People are listening to my conversations and judging me. They will do something if they find evidence.”

My phone is a huge anxiety factor for me. During my depressive psychotic episodes, I don’t see my phone as safe because it could be bugged, and someone could be listening. I lose interest in everything, because I become extremely fearful of people listening to me or reading my mind and using it against me in some way.

All of that might seem par for the course with bipolar, but I also find even my tastes in music and food changes. Plans I have made, such as going to a specific restaurant or playing a new game, seem pointless and a waste of time. During my depressive episodes, I tend to get rid of things that previously brought me joy (like stuffed toys or special snacks I’ve been holding onto) because they seem like a waste of space. During hypomania, I abandon projects to do new ones, and even abandon self-care projects (like painting) that seem exhausting and too difficult. I suddenly can’t stand the books on my shelf or the things I own. I find myself dissociated a lot of the time. I don’t find myself to be complete or whole, and I feel detached from everything else. My confidence slips away and is replaced with bland and safe experiences.

Even when I am mostly functional and I can bathe myself, when I don’t overreact or experience bipolar rage, I change my mind a lot. I cry a lot about not feeling coherent or whole, not understanding the impetus behind my choices. At this point, I focus on functioning primarily, and I often feel desperate about taking care of a responsibility before flopping back into bed from the exhaustion of doing the task.

It is obvious my mood disorder changes who I am on the outside. But it’s hard to articulate how it changes who I am on the inside. Even my core beliefs change. Mixed hypomania? Vindictive, angry, self-important, rude, and retaliatory toward others. Mixed depression? Neurotic, pessimistic, and overly apologetic, no self-worth, completely dependent on others. Hypomania? Confident, kind, responsible, selfless.

But then again, I never know for sure which version of me will be next. Will I wake up and be angry, yelling at everyone, and mean to the dogs? Or will I be quiet, fragile, withdrawn, and spend most of my days in bed?

“Who is that person? Is this really me? Was I always this person? What happened to the creative, intelligent, optimistic person I know I was?“ That old person is just a shadow buried under a pile of pills and side effects that change me constantly.

The phrase “this too shall pass,” has always carried an ominous undertone to me. Yes, this too shall pass. The clouds will part eventually, and things will become clearer. But what part of me will leave that I can never get back? And will I be able to untangle myself from my disorder and to clean up the mess of the previous me?

It might sound silly or it might be offensive to say, but I feel like I grieve every time I cycle. That version of me is gone, and I wouldn’t know in the future if I became them again. It’s likely to not happen. Bipolar cycles are like flowing water. I can never step in the same place twice.

After an entire decade of fighting to take back control of my life, I still struggle with this. A friend gave me a short list of things that might help with this feeling. A couple of suggestions for how to keep track of who you are outside of your mental illness:

1. Make art about yourself.

Draw, paint, write about how you feel, whenever you have the energy.

2. Create a collage of who you are in that moment.

Collect things that interest you in this cycle, whether it be pictures of the one thing that brought you joy, or the places you managed to visit.

3. Collect keepsakes.

Maybe a gift you gave yourself or got from someone else

4. Start a list of events or projects that make you happy.

Things you’ve done before or things you want to do.

5. Take pictures and label the album.

Capture your favorite food during this cycle or a place you went to often

6. Journal and practice gratitude.

“Today was rough but I am grateful to be able to play Animal Crossing on my Switch when I need a break from the world.”

With these small, seemingly insignificant things, we can start to meet ourselves where we are.