Bipolar Check-in #75

My cold is better but its still there. My coughing has improved a lot. But I have a complete loss of taste of smell. Even ginger and garlic I can't smell or taste. I just had a ginger nausea chew and couldn't taste it at all. I do feel like things are improving with the cold though. Last night I was struggling a lot with congestion and a sore throat and finallly I took a Benadryl for the cold, not for sleeping and it worked so well I felt a lot better and I slept until 8:30AM and I don't feel tired or weird from it today. My anxiety actually feels lower then it has been lately. I don't know. Theres just some weird stuff going on with me.

Feeling a little better today as it is a beautiful day and my dog and i have been out enjoying it. I skipped the arts and crafts afternoon at my drop-in and feel good about it. There's no sense in going all that way just to sit silently in a group and feel ignored. At least at home here i have my dog and she adores me!

@Nammu:

Glad to hear things are coming together for your new place. Do i detect a hint of excitement?

More likely anxiety to be in my own place where people aren’t messing with my stuff and the neighbor man isn’t barging in. Here for the last month there’s boxes everywhere and sisters showing up to move things.

@Samicat:

Look what the computer played on me today in Scrabble:

My Bipolar Experience

I was searching the internet for stories of people suffering through a bipolar experience because I was desperate to feel understood and less alone. I realized that I am a person having a bipolar experience, and maybe I have something to say that would make someone else feel less alone.

The grandiosity of me thinking anyone might care to hear about my menial life is ironic, I know.

I was diagnosed bipolar I at age 27 after extensive psychological testing. And again at 28, 29, and 30 after each of my involuntary hospital stays. Bipolar type I is diagnosed to individuals who suffer at least one manic episode and one depressive episode each year. Also sprinkled into that diagnosis are episodes of manic depression (basically you’re incredibly hype about sadness) hypomania (small instances of mania), rapid cycling (many, frequent swings between manic and depressed) and psychosis (an oh-so-fun total dissociation from reality, I often refer to it as “spiraling”). I wasn’t happy when I was diagnosed, but I can admit there was some relief to know that my impulse control problems and the constant battle to manage my thoughts and behaviors were not due to me being an inherently irresponsible and selfishly immature human being, although I am often still met with this belief from people who don’t want to accept mental illness as an explanation for poor behavior. The truth is, the people who take the time to really know and understand me know that the behaviors I exhibit when I’m very sick are drastically different from my authentic character. It’s also true that now that I know I am mentally ill, it is my responsibility to find treatments that work for me. It is not a carte blanche to be a justifiable lunatic. (Sorry to use the word).

A year in my life, as categorized by my diagnosis, typically looks something like the following description: I spend a decent part of the year trying to defy and deny my disorder. I wake up and face each day with strength and power and an admittedly unhealthy level of perfectionism. These are the moments I convincingly manage to build relationships and achieve accomplishments. To let myself down at all would be to admit that I’m trying to navigate life with a sick mind that can’t regulate itself properly. It would feel like I’m subscribing to the belief that mental disorders are, in fact, a disability. They put you at a disadvantage in a systematic world that punishes people for being different in any way.

I can’t possibly let people know my nervous system is constantly convinced I’m in grave danger.

I work insurmountably hard to mask the fact that the level of effort I’m putting in to my life, just to appear functional everyday, is taking every ounce of energy I am capable of providing at all times. I might compare it to trying to complete a triathlon each day. My psyche is a constant dichotomy of dueling thoughts (polar opposites, hence “bipolar”). Part of my brain is rooting for my success, telling me I am capable and I can function. The other part is working at full speed to deconstruct any false (or even real) sense of safety, to remind me I’m in danger and no one, including myself, is trustworthy. I genuinely believe both parts of my battling thought processes are alive in my mind to protect me, but the simultaneous existence of both creates an internal war.

“You can do this, you have been-and you are-doing it” the productive brain, the survival instinct, works to convince me. While my destructive brain argues:
“Doing what? Suffering through each miserable day in isolation so you can wake up and do the same tomorrow? Set yourself free of the agony of life, welcome death as a blessing.”

I am actively working to quiet intrusive thoughts, stay grounded in reality, and convince myself that my life is in my control and I am not in danger. All the while remaining guarded, because you never know who wants to hurt you. And, unfortunately, my experience has been that 9.5/10 people will hurt me. I was bred to be a people pleaser. It’s the only reason I have been given to believe my life is worthwhile. Bend to the will of a persons desire and maybe, just maybe, you might feel worthy of affection, affirmation, and praise. The only glimpse at value I’ve really ever known. Any moment in my life that I’ve tried to self advocate have been the same moments I’m reminded I’m no more valuable than a paper plate. Very easily disposed, forgotten, and abandoned when no longer useful.

At some point, because it is inevitable I will not achieve perfection, I truly won’t even get anywhere close, I falter. I lose the battle in my brain. The mess of my neurology becomes unmanageable. I am, ultimately, not in control of my cortisol, serotonin, or dopamine levels. Our society has convinced me to believe that these stumbles are chosen and willing decisions I’m making, to lose the battle with my thoughts. The thoughts that tell me I’m disposable and valueless. Why am I working so tirelessly to prove I deserve my life? And to who? People who will wash their hands of me the minute I no longer benefit them? So I submit, I submit, I wash my hands of myself.

I falter. When I do, it typically is not gentle nor easily recoverable. The failure is so powerful and impressive that I completely surrender. You aren’t flawless? Well, then, you’re worthless. This is my thought pattern. It’s largely learned, but also very real and very loud. I shatter. You cannot convince me in these moments that you care about me, even if you do, there is no reality that exists for me that can persuade me to believe my oxygen intake is justifiable. I deserve nothing. It’s a very melodramatic, self-absorbed, pity party that I habitually throw for myself. And because I am burdened with self-awareness, I recognize the audacity and narcissistic nature of these thoughts, and I plunge deeply into guilt.

Mania, meet depression. I can’t get out of bed. These are the times in my life when I’ve lost relationships, abandoned jobs, and been nearly homeless. I will do anything to make the hours of the day pass by with as little consciousness as possible. Sleeping pills, opiates, alcohol. Often toeing the line of overdosing, pretending to leave my fate in the hands of the universe. Anything to escape the hours of the day while trying to silence the voice in my head that’s desolately attempting to grant myself life. The days I work to erase, the “down-days,” are really a fight against the suicidal thoughts that race through my mind. Sleep through the day, black out or something. Just don’t kill yourself. You might feel better tomorrow.

And eventually, sometimes very eventually, tomorrow arrives. I get up and try again. I attempt to reassemble the rubble of the life I’ve destroyed. Make due with the remains, it’s less every time.

Peppered within the long moments of try-hard mania and desperate depression are the moments of hypomania. This is where I exist a majority of the time. If you were to watch the life I lead when I’m alone like a fly on the wall you would see that I spend many days wide awake, with barely any caloric consumption. I’ll rearrange my furniture, I’ll read multiple books, I’ll make wreck-less purchases for hour long renovation projects. When I’m hypomanic but feeling lower (lacking sincere amounts of dopamine/serotonin) I’ll seek external input like physical affection from casual sex. I will spend days surrounded by random people, hopping from one person to the next. I’ll make even more wreck-less purchases. I will often end up with a random person in a random city doing, more than likely, dangerous amounts of drugs. Walking a carefree tight-rope, hovering just inches above death.

I thought I had a drug and alcohol problem, but apparently my behavior wasn’t that of an addict, specifically because I was never physically dependent on any one substance (except maybe nicotine). When I was ****ed up on pills or blacked out on booze I wasn’t displaying addict behavior, I was displaying some form of psychosis. To quote a police officer who tried to help a friend while they struggled in vain to talk me off the naked-and-screaming-in-the-street ledge: “this is something much more complicated, intense, and dark than just drugs or alcohol.” It would have, and has, looked even worse if I had tried not to dull the misfiring in my brain with the substances. I wasn’t a slave to the substances I was abusing. It took time, but I learned that I was self medicating because navigating life as a person suffering from bipolar disorder, from my own experience, was so uncomfortable that I was desperate for relief. My skin would crawl and my heart would race and my brain would rapidly fire thoughts like “nothing will ever be ok,” “everyone hates you” and “you will not be ok, ever.” And honestly, maybe I won’t.

But I’m still allowing myself oxygen, at least for now. The voice in my mind that is desperate to survive has not yet suffocated. As I mentioned, I am burdened by self-awareness. I have endlessly researched this affliction. I am wise to it’s incredible challenges and viciously aware of the statistics. Only 30% of people diagnosed with this disorder will find a way to survive it for their entire lives. If that doesn’t tell you how furiously those of us with this illness are suffering, nothing will. Ultimately, I am doing my best and beyond that, I am powerless.

It's a sign! lol

Well. I was awake all last night. Managed to drug myself into a two hour nap today. Sigh. Time for another all nighter!

Welcome. @Strugglin

Isn't this mania or hypomania?

I think I'm bordering hypo, yes, but it's okay. I'm not doing anything bad. Just writing a lot. I predict the first draft of this novel will be complete in a few weeks, if not less than that.

sounds like you have symptoms of covid. lack of smell is a key symptom.
get a test done.
thank you for sharing.
bizi

Welcome strugglin!
Do you have a psychiatrist or therapist?
Are you taking meds? If not they could benefit you with the
highs and lows of being bipolar.
I am bipolar 1.
and have taken meds since in my early 20's. I am 60 now.
My meds stopped working and I was hospitalized
2 1/2 years ago to try different meds in a safe
environment after much trial and error I ended

up on the meds in my signature. I wish for you

blessings and good luck in this journey toward better mental health.
bizi

I think I'm going to run out of seroquel I keep on having to take more of it out of desperation. And I can't get my prn seroquel until June 2nd (something to do with my insurance. Not because I was taking too much of it. My pdoc said I could take 100mg prn daily if I needed to. It's not my fault my stupid pharmacy gave me 50mg tablets instead of 100mg!).

This is sucky What am I going to do? I CAN'T ****ING SLEEP!!!!! I see my therapist on Tuesday. I'm going to talk to her about this situation.

Welcome @Strugglin! Thank you so much for sharing your story. I relate to much of what you wrote! Some of the challenges I've overcome. Others I, too, still battle with. I also know some will never be conquered. Or not fully.

I hope you'll consider addressing some of those topics as separate threads here. Regulars and lurkers here would be grateful. This "Bipolar Check-in" thread does not give adequate attention to them.

During recent months, a couple of new members observed the lack of general topic threads here, relating to bipolar disorder. It is true that there are few, as this Bipolar Check-in thread dominates and is more like a journal/chat for many of us. Also, sometimes when a newbie posts an individual thread, it gets few or delayed responses. I wonder if that fact is why many newbies disappear quickly? With that in mind, I posted a couple general topic threads that my hopefully lure lurkers to post or newbies to maybe stay. They may not attract everyone, that's why I hope others here might consider adding one, too, if you wish. Over the years, I benefited greatly from reading bipolar topic responses and I could still.

May be we are different in what we need. I feel fine going to the same "daily thread" because that gives me a feeling of belonging, but I get your point about newbie's needs.

I used to post (and as I remember you) lots of good topics surrounding bipolar. I guess my lack of posting things like that is a mix of both — it’s all been said before, and people rarely participate. I agree though. Why not run a few staple threads to get some traction. I really enjoyed the topics that came out of the threads..

Hello, I am in to say "Hi". May has been a good month for me, a lot of family gatherings. Still I have one problem. My level of blood glucose is too high. I get my meds, but blood glucose is generally very dependent of what we eat as well. To spare myself from having too much to do during my deep depression earlier this year, I started to buy finished meals that was to be heated only (dinners). I have to change my relation to food.

Tomorrow we will have the last May celebration, so I cannot start to morrow. The day after tomorrow I have made some appointments about doing physical activity together with others. I expect to be very tired afterward, so I have already bought a pizza for that day. After that I will have to start being aware of what I put into my mouth. I will post about my progress here. I think that depression and other kinds of MI can lead to diabetes, because when one is deeply depressed, one has problems with motivation and often becomes very passive for a period. That's why I think it belongs here, as some kind of sequelae to depression if one is gentic disposed to it.

After all we are whole persons, not one doze of depression, one doze of hypo, another doze of pain in the muscles or, as for me, a diabetic illness on the top of everything else that has to be taken care of either one feels this or that way, - have energy or not ...

May you all feel as well as possible! See you later!

My covid test was negative

Thanks @Soupe du jour for lighting a creative fire under me today. I posted a few threads I hope garner some attention. It's been a while since we've had some thought provoking discussions about how our illness benefits or hinders us!

Today I'm doing fine. I got my med situation straightened out and I'm spending my time trying to enjoy nice weather when applicable and study languages. I hope my good mood lasts. At the end of the week I'll be leaving for Virginia to see my nephew graduate. I'm not looking forwards to the car drive (14+ hours) with family members -- but it is what it is. I don't really have much more to report. Just stoppin in to say Hi!

Take Care
Brent

I still can't smell or taste anything and its starting to drive me crazy. I couldn't taste my cheese puffs. Or my matcha frappuchino. I just now stuck my nose in my carmael cinnamon stroopwafel and I couldn't smell a thing. I hope this is not permanent. All I had was a cold and I'm feeling much better today.

Tommorow I'm going over to my sisters house for once for Memorial Day. My brother in law got a meat smoker so he is going to smoke up a bunch of meat. I hope I can smell and taste by tommrow afternoon and that my stomach is ok.

I'm nervous about this gastro stuff and the endoscopy and what they will find. But the level keeps going up and the pain sucks, so something isnt right. Hopefully its easily fixable though.

I wonder if my cast iron stomach and all my weird food combinations over the years finally caught up to me.

We had a small bbq today. It was quite pleasant. I picked my grandma up from her house to bring her here and the whole time I was praying (sort of - I’m not religious) that she’d still be alive by the time we got there. I was puzzled about my worse than usual anxiety until I realized that today is the anniversary of my first husband’s sudden death from a drug overdose.



So anyway. Everything went well. I’m kind of afraid to go to sleep because I’m afraid someone’s gonna be dead when I wake up. It’s hard for me to reason through this particular brand of anxiety because it really could happen. And I can’t tell myself it’s unlikely because it was unlikely eight years ago but it happened.

Ugh. I don’t know. I’m watching a comedy on Netflix to kind of take my mind off everything. Hopefully I’ll be able to calm down before bedtime.

I had a quiet day. It went up to 29 degrees Celsius (84 degrees Fahrenheit), but that was just at the height of the day. It's still cooling off nicely at night. I realized i've had to be assertive with my neighbors twice over the past few days and that it went well both times. Assertiveness is a challenge for me. First, i kicked an aggressive dog out of the dog park. Second, i quieted down my neighbor who was noisy for hours. I waited until it was past quiet hours, so i was clearly in the right. I found out he's playing Dungeons and Dragons over the phone. It was really bothering me, not knowing what he was hooting and hollering about and why he would use different voices and why he'd go silent sometimes. I thought, well, he's either one hell of a conversationalist over the phone or he's a gamer talking over a headset. But his explanation tells why he talks in a higher voice sometimes, presumably his character. Sheesh! Both incidents had good results and i didn't find it too upsetting. Yay Jane!

Brilliant on your part, way to go on being assertive!

Yay!!!!!!for assertiveness!