I often feel like I am in a living hell. It doesn’t seem like that from the outside. I have family, friends, and a roof over my head. The hell is inside my head. I suffer from bipolar disorder. It causes me to have dangerous highs and crippling lows. I sometimes wake up in the morning and just know my brain is going to sabotage me at some point during the day. Sometimes I go to bed at night and can’t sleep because my mind is running too fast, worrying about the awful things going on in my life; irregardless of whether those problems actually exist or not. It has shaped my life in every way imaginable and only now, at 27 years old, am I taking the time to understand what it does to me. What it already did to me. How I can learn to live with it going forward.
In this series of articles, I will speak about how bipolar has crept up throughout my life. I will talk about how debilitating it has been for the last 6 months. My best friend, Andrew Valdez, will be posting responses and articles of his own regarding what he sees from the outside of me. I am lucky to have him as my best friend and the fact we share this passion for writing and mental health is something I am very blessed to have.
Okay, now for some backstory. I was diagnosed as bipolar in November of 2013. I was 19 years old. I could remember having unstable emotions since I was young. I remember when I was 11 having a full breakdown at 2 in the morning, because a wrestler I was a fan of, Eddie Guerrero, had died. My father went out drinking that night, and he still wasn’t home. In my mind, that meant my father was also likely to die that night. And if not that night, it would be soon. I remember sitting at the kitchen table two years later, contemplating stabbing myself in the neck with my pencil because I couldn’t understand a question on my math homework. I once told a girl I would rather kill myself then remain her friend after she rejected my advances, as cringeworthy as that is to remember. I have also believed that had I discovered soccer at a younger age, I would be a world-famous soccer player today. I have felt that I am truly better than every other person around me and they just don’t recognize it, or more likely, don’t want to give me the satisfaction of acknowledging it. I’ve believed I could and should be president of the United States (and eventually the world) and I just needed to be given a chance. Bipolar is something I can’t imagine living without. I thought everyone felt this way. Little did I know how unlucky, and lucky I am.
Bipolar is difficult for me to accept having, because I pride myself on having control of myself. I don’t drink, I don’t do drugs, I always try to keep my wits about me. But at times this dark cloud envelopes me and entices me into being unhappy. It is as though a weight is put on me. My chest gets heavy and it is harder to breathe, my knees and feet hurt. My brain feels like it’s expanding out of my skull. And I can’t control it. And I can’t stop it. I am put into this depression trap, and I just hope I fall out. I consider myself a control freak and having bipolar can ruin plans, dreams, hopes and goals so quickly and so easily. I can focus so much on losing weight, but one bad bipolar day can lead me to eating a whole pizza and half a cake. It makes having relationships almost impossible and it forces you to try and do everything you can to hide it so you don’t push people away. I have friends who I have been close to for 10 plus years, and not even all of them know I am bipolar. All the signs are there, but you are afraid to tell anyone because it may push them away.
The highs of bipolar are of course more enjoyable, but when the highs end, you feel cheated. When you are high, you think that you have finally figured it out. Now you know why you are unhappy, now you know what has been going wrong. You are invincible and unstoppable. That hot girl you are interested in suddenly is attainable. The dream job you want, it can be yours. Why not book that trip to Africa? Of course those stocks are going to succeed. Your eyes are open, and the dark clouds are gone, the sun is shining on you, and you feel great. You feel fucking fantastic. Honestly, it is better than sex. But eventually the sun starts to fade, and you see those dark clouds on the horizon. And slowly you realize that the sun never really shone on you. It was just a spotlight in your manic show. It was all a lie.
Learning how to find the middle ground is the whole game with bipolar. I used to be able to go months without the dark clouds finding me. I was even foolish enough to think I cured myself. But the dark clouds found me again. And the spotlights found me again. And because I thought this bipolar battle was over, I got complacent. I got weak. And the dark clouds have grown darker, and the spotlights are brighter. I have come to realize that I will have to deal with this the rest of my life. How do I deal with the dark clouds? How will I deal with the spotlights? I wish I had the answers. But I do know that I am in for a fight, and I am not interested in losing.
Kanye West described being bipolar as a superpower. I wouldn’t call it a superpower, but I would say it can make a bipolar person a superhero. Or supervillain. In a way it is like the Hulk. You don’t know when it will start or end, but while you turn into the green monster, you might save the world, or you may destroy everything around you. Bipolar can at times be truly useful. You can find many before and after pictures of bipolar people’s bedrooms after a cleaning frenzy. I once wrote a 10 page essay on Socrates in 2 hours without reading the book or looking at the textbook, just by listening to a YouTube video about him and writing nonstop in a frenzied rush. I have never used them, but I presume that being adderall or cocaine is what it feels like when you are in a manic mood and you are able to get everything you need done.
I once jokingly told a girl that I have never felt happiness before. She believed me and had true concern for me. At the time when I said it, I said it as a joke. Now I wonder if it is true. Bipolar has robbed me of ever truly being happy. It wasn’t the only culprit. But it certainly contributed. So now at the age of 27, here I am, trying to find the path to happiness. I have left so much wreckage and clutter in my wake, and all I can do is try and be happy for once. I hope one day I can find the way.
Andrew’s Article: https://just-ablog.com/?p=307
If you are struggling with thoughts of self-harm or suicide, please do not hesitate to contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1–800–273-TALK (8255). This is a free, 24/7 confidential service that can provide people in suicidal crisis or emotional distress, or those around them, with support, information, and local resources. For more information, call or visit www.suicidepreventionhotline.org.