[Miang]

It's one of those days. You know the ones I mean - when despite the blue sky, the ((presumably)) pleasant breeze and the chirping birds, the reality is clear to you: there is no hope, no joy and no possibility of life becoming tolerable. You've always known it. You know it even when you think you're happy. 'Happy' moments are self-delusions you use to keep on believing the world is the way other people swear it is. In your heart though, you know better. You've always known better.

It's been on of those days for six months.

I didn't mean for this to happen. Honestly, I can't remember the day when I woke up and said "I think today I'm going to embrace the endless uselessness of life and never, ever, consider it could be better." I must have though, at some point. After all, other people don't see this plain truth so I must have decided my world would be this way. But perhaps it wasn't one choice. Maybe it was a series of choices and this is simply a foreseeable consequence that I failed to consider. If so, I suppose I should just deal with it. My actions, my consequences, my problem. After all killing myself would be weak, selfish and irresponsible. I can't possibly consider how much better off I might be; it's my job to remember that such an unbelievably self-center act would bother other people. How dare I even think of throwing my consequences out the window and making everyone else face them instead?

What the hell am I talking about? Okay, I'll start at the beginning.

I had my first bipolar episode before I entered kindergarten. I don't remember it, but my parents do. The details aren't especially important. What matters is what followed: years of mood swings predominated largely by manic or hypo-manic episodes. I had my down days, my depressed days, even my suicidal days. But mostly I was up. I don't mean, "Good morning, isn't today great?" up. I mean "HI! How are you, today is fantastic. I'm going to conquer the world by creating an army of totally loyal robot soldiers who follow my commands, and then, and then, then..." ((Consider the 'and thens' aud infinitum and you'll have the idea.)) I wouldn't sleep for days and when I finally collapsed it was never for a long period of time. I had too much to do...although it never did seem to get done. Oh, well. Who has time for follow through when it's the ideas that matter?

I saw my first psychiatrist when I was fourteen. This was a time during which diagnosing a child with bipolar was taboo. Kids couldn't be manic - but they could be depressed. Here, have some Prozac, you'll be fine! What? Since you started the medication you feel like cutting the faces off of every person you meet because their just so damn evil/stupid/annoying? Huh, how odd.

In retrospect maybe pouring the Prozac down the drain wasn't one of my worst ideas. I've made it into my thirties and so far have never actually cut someones' face off. Hardly a stunning achievement, I know, but a 0 maiming record could be worse.

Being a bipolar teen has a lot of challenges. Maybe I wasn't even bad at it - I didn't drink, didn't do drugs and didn't become promiscuous. My life already felt out-of-control; it always seemed to me like adding any of those things would only make it more so. I was tempted once or twice but who wants to spoil a perfecting good 0-maiming record? So I abstained. ((NOTE: This is not an endorsement of abstinence-only sex ed. I had comprehensive sex ed and made a choice not to add another variable to the wildfire. I doubt I could have done this if I didn't understand what sex was and what it could cause.)) Homeschooling probably helped with this. Still, I graduated on time without falling into a lot of pitfalls that face even stable people.

I started junior college right away. I had never had a problem with grades. Not that I was a responsible student. I blew off homework all the time. Hell, in college I started blowing off classes on a regular basis. I knew I'd be fine. Not A's maybe, but solid B's. I never did figure out why so many of my friends had to spend so much time doing work that seemed easy to me or studying for tests. I always got a high score, no study time. It baffled me. No, honesty time - it irritated me. I thought they were being hyper paranoid and they'd be fine if only they would relax about it. There was always something more important going on in my world.

Of course I knew I was different. Off. Mercurial, unpredictable, irresponsible or...insane. I knew what bipolar was. I was pretty sure I had it too. I just wasn't going to go back to a doctor whose solution was to put me on murder-inducing drugs. I did check into a hospital once - after I hadn't slept for seven days and was having trouble telling where exactly the ground was beneath my feet. They put me on a slew of drugs overnight, ((hadoral, valium, etc.)) tied me down and waited. I didn't fall asleep and they released me in the morning. There was no psychiatrist on-call. I went home and collapsed.

When I got into my early twenties I decided that the doctors would now be able to re-evaluate my condition. I was no longer a teen, I could be bipolar now. I found a county mental health clinic, got into the program and was put on mood stabilizers and seroquel to help me sleep. Lo and behold...it worked. My moods could still shift but it was never as dramatic as it had been. I found some kind of a balance, looked back and realized how awfully I had treated a lot of my family and friends over the years. I was appalled. Illness or not these were my actions and I was responsible for them. I apologized. I tried to make it up to people I knew. I promised myself I would never, ever use my disease as an excuse to be a terrible person.

I was stable for several years. My meds were changed a couple of times - no matter how effective a sleep aid seroquel can be, it's not a good idea for someone with chronic low blood pressure. It turns out the body doesn't like it when your blood pressure drops below 75/30 at all. Still, we worked at it and I found a good equilibrium. It wasn't all medication, of course and I wasn't perfect. Sometimes my moods would get out of control. I'd say something terrible, scream, yell, throw things, pull down the entertainment center....Not often, but sometimes. When it passed I always apologized, cleaned up the mess and attempted to do something nice to show the person who put up with me how much I appreciated their understanding. I wanted to own my behaviors. The chemicals in my head kept trying to steal them, but ******mit they were mine and I wasn't going to let them go! I learned to bit my tongue if I felt a rage coming on. I learned to leave the room. If I thought my mood was shifting I'd step out of the room until I knew what it was going to be and if I could control it around other people. I learned to never, ever talk to people about what was upsetting me when I was still upset. If I destroyed my room then at least the only person who had to suffer through it was me. Again this didn't happen often and for a few years I was stable enough to care for my mother while she went through the illness that eventually claimed her life. My stability allowed me to be there for her and to be there for my father. I remain very grateful for this.

Eventually I moved. I was forced to switch county facilities. The local place is very different from where I used to go. The doctors and nurses there don't like having to take time away from unstable patients to deal with the ones who are stable. The attitude seems to be, "you're fixed, why are you here bothering us?" I started to have very bad reactions to going to the doctor. I'd come home and hide for days, where I couldn't bother anyone. I'd cry. Overtime I was gaining a new understanding: even when I was stable I was still an enormous burden on everyone. Where did I get the idea I had the right to inflict this on other people?

So shockingly, I quit going. I went off my meds.

Still, things were different. It wasn't like last time. I wasn't up, up, up. If I started to feel that way I had learned a valuable life skill - I'd go away from people. Somehow, though, that turned out to not be the most fantastic solution I ever had. I started going away from people a lot. Then it morphed into I didn't want to be around people. After that it changed into being afraid of them. But at least I wasn't inflicting this on others! Gods, I was screwed up but I didn't have to be selfish.

Somehow though I still am. I'm not manic often anymore. Life has no luster, no meaning, no drive, no point. Grey, grey, grey, grey...Death will come eventually. That's a comfort. But I can't invite him early - that would be selfish. After all who am I to tell Death what his schedule should be? I'm not his supervisor. But back to the inflicting. I withdrew for a while when I started to feel really, really bad. I went into my room and shut the door. I emerged for food, drink or to use the restroom. I avoided my roommates.

This, very naturally, did not go over well. My friend came to me a few weeks ago to explain that I had shut them out. I should complain when I'm unhappy. I should yell or snap or show it when I am angry. I absolutely should not spend so much time alone. It was making them very unhappy. I listened. I wanted to try. After all I had been down for six months. If they were tired of it, who could blame them? So I moved my computer into the living room ((the like TV; I don't)) and made an effort to go out there every day. The thing is, it's not enough. I don't complain, yell or snap. I still wait until the anger passes before I will talk about anything. I don't know how to do it; I feel like if I uncoil the twine that binds my anger and unleash it that I will never get it back under control. I'll swing again. After all, depression + rage + mania = bad. I don't want to loose that 0-maiming record. My roommates have expressed that they'd like it if this depressive phased passed. It's been going on to long now. I've told it to go but it's just a guest I can't seem to evict.

So how do I find a way to stop putting them through this? How can I unwrap my anger -enough- so that I can do what is needed without loosing control too much? I have no idea how to take responsibility for this, no idea how to approach it.

I'm sorry this is so long, and I'm also sorry if it overwhelms anyone. That was not my intent.

[ultramar]

You've expressed yourself so eloquently, this is very moving, and I'm sorry to see that you are, and have been for so long, in such a terrible place. Thank you for sharing this.

This of course isn't news to you, but it sounds like you do not have sufficient support at the clinic where you go (or used to go). You need and deserve support and help and I hope you will find it --I wonder if there is another clinic you can go to. If you live in a city there should be some to choose from, if you're in a town, maybe in another town you can commute to. I know it must seem like a herculean task right now, as you can barely leave your room, but I hope you can make it to someplace that will help you.

I do hope you regain hope.