Three Days in My Life With Bipolar Disorder

It’s a day when I’m depressed. I wake up late and try to decide whether to get out of bed. I do so in order to take my meds, since I have to go to the bathroom anyway. If I have anticipated this depression, I will have left a box of Cocoa Puffs by my bedside, and these constitute my breakfast.

• What is Bipolar disorder?

If I stay in bed all day, I am bored, because I can’t even focus enough to read. Everything I try to read means nothing to me. If I get up, I spend a large part of the day on the sofa, watching horrible reality shows that remind me that there are other people with crappy lives too. I skip lunch. I forget that I have an iPod with thousands of songs on it. I skip therapy appointments because I’m unable to get up and dressed and drive there. I feel numb and useless and pathetic. My brain reinforces this belief.

In the evening, I cry. I weep. I sob. Snot runs from my nose. I have circling thoughts about every stupid, embarrassing thing I’ve ever done. I try to wait till my husband’s asleep so he won’t hear me crying. I wake in the middle of the night, still crying.

I have anxiety attacks too, particularly when I’m in bed at night. I wake gasping. My husband holds me and strokes my hair until I fall asleep again. It’s really all he can do for me.

My psychiatrist and I keep trying different meds, but none of them does more than take the edge off a little. I still can’t function.

There is nothing I can do to change any of this. I can’t cheer up. I can’t even see a time when I won’t feel this way. This goes on every day for months. For years, even. I’d hope for an end to this, but I have given up on hope.

It’s a day when I’m hypomanic. I wake up early, not exactly refreshed, but with a more-than-usual alertness. I take my meds, then go downstairs and have a muffin and a container of yogurt for breakfast.

I go to my computer and start writing. I may have an assignment – typing or ghostwriting – or I may just work on new blog posts. The momentum of writing stays with me and presses me to keep going. I write lots, but badly. Maybe I forge ahead and write another blog post or volunteer for more typing. I forget that I need lunch.

I jump around from project to project. I scroll and scroll through Facebook. I check my email every few minutes. I go to clothing websites and order underwear and pajamas and blouses. I look at jewelry, too. I check my bank account at least four times.

I don’t read, because nothing holds my attention. I watch competition shows because of the excitement. I try to listen to music, but I can’t finish one song without flipping to another.

I may notice that I’m hypomanic and try to control it. This goes on for a week or so. I hope it ends soon.

It’s a day when I’m stable. I wake up after nine hours of sleep and take my meds. I have a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of tea for breakfast. I check my calendar and see what I have scheduled for the next few days, such as an appointment with my therapist or finishing my writing or typing assignment. I have peanut butter and fruit for lunch.

I do my work. I reread what I wrote when I was hypomanic and immediately start revising it – if I haven’t already submitted it. I take on new assignments and try to space them out so they’re not overwhelming. Sometimes I even succeed. I keep a calendar on my computer with dates of appointments for both me and my husband, when assignments are due and when bills need to be paid, and which week is recycling week.

I meet with my therapist once a month via video chat and see my psychiatrist four times a year for medication updates. The only time I miss one of those is when my car is at the mechanic.

I’m very close to “normal.” I hope this goes on forever.